As the opening titles conclude, Sian breezes onto the stage in a colourful floral dress, waving to the cheering audience.

Sian: Thank you, thank you! Good evening! Welcome once again to Comeuppance, the popular programme where petty, petulant, perfidious professionals get plunged into our putrid pit of pungent plonk, as public punishment for peeing people off!

The present persons pound their palms in praise.

Sian: Tonight, as always, three rogues will face judgement. I, Sian Welby, will be prosecutor, judge and executioner, but you, the long-suffering public, are jury! So let’s get straight down to it and meet the contestants!

The TV licensing enforcement officer
Sian: Our returning runner-up from last week is Stacy the TV licensing enforcement officer. She’s 26 years old and comes from Bath.

The audience boos and hisses as the pair of burly guards wheel on a cage containing Stacy.

Sian: So Stacy, what kind of week have you had?

Stacy: [clicking her knuckles] A very productive one – several successful prosecutions, personally instigated by me, and a dozen more court appearances scheduled for next week. The writing’s on the wall: if you watch TV, better buy a licence!

More booing from the audience.

Sian: Another great use of our courts. Lizzie the lawyer would be proud! And meanwhile – as much I hate to give our broadcasting rival a damn good kicking – the BBC has been in the news and it’s not exactly positive, is it?

Stacy: [sighs] As I explained very clearly last week, I’m not responsible for the BBC. I’m not even employed by them. It’s my job to enforce the law by making sure everyone has a TV licence.

Sian: And don’t people hate you for it! May I remind you, you came very close to getting your comeuppance last week. [Moves closer to Stacy’s cage and adopts a gentler tone] But maybe you can redeem yourself with a bit of honesty. Those detector vans – complete bluff aren’t they? Even if they worked with the old-style tube tellies – which is doubtful – they certainly can’t pick up LCD displays.

Stacy: You’re very wrong, Sian! Detector vans most certainly do work [looks directly at the camera] and they’re in your neighbourhood, so watch out!

Sian: I think you need to watch out Stacy; it could well be second time mucky for you!

Stacy shakes her head with a nervous smile.

Sian: I’m sure licence-payers and non-licence-payers alike would love to see such a thing, but whether Stacy goes in the Mucky Dip will depend on the competition. Let’s find out who she’s up against!

The high street fundraiser
Our next contestant tonight is Ivana. She’s 24, from Liverpool, and she’s been a high street fundraiser for the past year and a half.

Ivana’s cage is wheeled on to the usual booing.

Sian: So folks, some of you may find Ivana’s inclusion controversial, and we certainly don’t want to denigrate the good work of charities or the importance of giving. But, we’ve received more than one request that this profession be featured, and they’re not called charity muggers – or “chuggers” – for nothing. And let’s make one thing clear: these high street fundraisers are not volunteers. They’re employed by private companies, and some are even paid commission!

Ivana: Well Sian, I do apologise for having to earn a living like everyone else! And I likewise give my heartfelt apologies if people have their quest to buy designer shoes or the latest phone marred by being reminded of those less fortunate than themselves for a few minutes!

There’s profuse booing from the audience.

Sian: Dear me Ivana, that was a rather uncharitable answer! Not everyone’s buying high-end goods. These are lean economic times, and people have to think carefully about every commitment they make. They don’t want to be guilt-tripped and pressured in a public place!

Ivana: [shaking her head] Everyone can spare something, even if it’s only 50p a month.

Sian: And that brings me to my next point. In the good old days, a shopper could get away with tossing a few quid in the bucket. Nowadays you lot want to set up direct debits, you put us on all these mailing lists… an unlucky encounter in the street can cause months of hassle!

Ivana: [shrugging] If it brings in more money for charity, I’m cool with it.

Sian: No! I’m sorry Ivana, but charity isn’t an excuse to act like an arse! People are fed up being pestered to dip into their pockets, and I think they’ll enjoy dipping you into our muck!

Ivana puts her hands on her hips, wearing a disbelieving smirk.

Sian: [turning back to the camera] But satisfying though that might sound to everyone, please wait to meet villain number three before making up your minds.

The bouncer
Sian: And she is Karen – 31 years old from Cardiff. Karen is a nightclub bouncer of eight years’ standing.

The spectators show their disapproval as Karen is wheeled on.

Sian: Ah yes! This is one that touches a personal nerve. There’s been a number of times when I’ve needed to be seen in a certain high-class nightspot. All the in-people are inside quaffing cocktails. All the photographers are there taking snaps for the celeb mags. But I get stopped by some clown on the door who refuses to let me in! I mean, don’t these people know who I am?

Karen: [impassively] Probably not. I’d never heard of you before signing up to this show.

There’s a shocked intake of breath around the studio.

Sian: [flushing] Oh, that’s just typical of the attitude I encounter! No respect. Very petty too – if you don’t want to let someone in you’ve always got an excuse ready. Perhaps they’ve got the wrong colour shoelaces, or their hair’s brushed the wrong way, or you ask for ID even though the person’s old enough to draw a pension!

Karen: We don’t need excuses, Sian. If we don’t like the look of you, you’re not coming in. Simple as that. And there’s no point arguing. We’re there all night. If you want to stand there making a tit of yourself, that’s your choice.

Sian: [stamps her foot] Uuugghh!! So unreasonable!

Karen: If you think we’re unreasonable, you should see some of the drunken scum we have to deal with on a nightly basis. I’m the one who has to go into the toilet to drag some idiot from a puddle of her own puke. I’ve been sworn at, spat at, had kebabs thrown at me…

Sian: Well fear not! It’ll all pale in comparison if you go in the Mucky Dip! And speaking of bouncing, the mechanism on that thing’s very springy!

Karen continues to stand stolidly with arms folded.

Sian: [turns once more to the front] And that concludes our lurid lineup! I’m sure everyone knows how the show works by now, but I’ll outline it for its own sake. Odious occupations deserve a suitably stinky punishment, which is why tonight’s most disliked contestant will find herself dangling above our dreaded Mucky Dip!

The audience cheers as a high-angle camera sweeps across the stage. As usual for this segment of the show, the seat is parked above the rim of the giant vat, and dry-ice fog belches out.

Sian:We’ll be taking a closer look in there during the mid-way update, when we’ll also have a chat with the woman in charge of making our muck, so make sure you tune in for that. But the most important part of the show begins right now: on your screen you should see a phone number corresponding to each of the contestants. These are your numbers for voting. If one of these professions has wound you up recently, here’s your chance to get revenge! Your vote will help to put that contestant up in that chair!

Sian walks forward to the edge of the stage.

Sian: So who will receive tonight’s Comeuppance? Will it be Stacy, the TV licensing inspector who threatens you with court appearances and detector vans? Will it be Ivana, the paid fundraiser who corners you for direct debits in the street? Or will it be Karen, the nightclub bouncer who’s out to ruin your night? I know who I’d vote for, but it ain’t my call. It’s over to you.

Poll closes at 10 pm on Thursday 10^th. As always with this series, repeat voting is allowed with a 12 hour gap.

Hello, and welcome to scene 15 and 16 of Pancake Day 2. Now having mentioned the Saw films in my last intro I feel obliged to mention them again as the trap in scene 15 borrows heavily from a trap in one of the films. It sees two people strapped together, competing against each other in a tug of war like scenario. Very similar too one of the first traps in one of the Saw films, (I forget which number exactly. One of the weaker ones towards the end of the series) that saw a group of people tethered together in a similar way, fighting to avoid being the one who ended up being decapitated. Here the result of failure isn’t as fatal, but results in one of several changes I made to make it a proper messy game.
With two people involved in the game I also took the chance to give one of Porcelain’s allies an extra appearance during the set up of the game. The development of Dwayne and Garry as characters is one of the more notable changes between writing the first and second film. In the first film I’d not put much thought in to them, as they only get a quick mention to explain how Porcelain carried out some of the schemes. Here though I’ve thought about them more, and how they ended up being treated as outcasts and consequently aligning with Porcelain. In Dwayne’s case I’ve drawn on some of my own experiences of struggling in a lot situations before I realised I was transgender, while trying to dispel a few misconceptions at the same time, such as by giving him a girlfriend, and having someone who cross dresses for psychological, not sexual reasons.

Scene 15:

The camera cuts to another room in the old cellar. This time it’s a long narrow room, made even narrower where it’s divided down the middle by a chain link fence. On either side is a girl lying on the ground. One has long brunette hair, has purple eye shadow, dark red lipstick and wears a navy blue summer dress decorated with red rose designs a pair of high chunky heeled boots. The other has a short blonde bob, pink lipstick and eye shadow and wears a white top and a pleated pink miniskirt and a pair of mid heeled fashionable stilettos. The camera cuts to one of their wrists. They’re handcuffed behind her back, and the handcuffs are secured in place by a padlock attaching the chain to a brown leather belt secured around her waist. Attached to the belt there is some sort of steel cord, that runs to the back of the room. As the camera zooms out we see more of the floor, on which are numerous crepe style pancakes topped with various substances such as whipped cream, or fruit and syrup, or chocolate sauce.

Porcelain: Hello Clara.
Dwayne: Hello Amy.
Porcelain + Dwayne: It’s playtime.

The camera cuts to a shot at the end of the room where two barred doors can be seen, either side of the chain link. On both doors at about waste height is a metal panel, about twenty centimetres high, in each panel three geometric shapes have been cut out. Behind one door is Porcelain, wearing her now familiar red and black corset top. Behind the other door is Dwayne who has donned a red and black striped sequined dress, and a pair of red satin gloves, along with black leather leggings and a pair of heeled boots. He’s also wearing a long wavy brunette wig, and has applied a layer of make up to give him a more feminine look.

Clara: What it this? Who are you two freaks?
Dwayne: I like the name Davina. You might recognise my good friend here, she likes to be called Princess Porcelain.
Amy: No! Your that girl who carried out all those gunge attacks in Southbrook.
Porcelain: I’m sure you know me for more than that. All that name calling, tormenting, you and your friends made my life hell for almost a year.
Clara: Look I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you’d get quite so upset. Most of it was Amy’s idea anyway.
Amy: Oh you would say that you manipulative cow. You were always willing to drop others in it. Not like me. I just went along for the ride. If you should be punishing anyone it’s her.
Clara: No it was always you. I always said it was stupid.
Amy: What about all the idiotic suggestion you made?
Clara: Well if anyone could think up an idiotic idea it would be you.
Amy: Me! What about all the times you’ve got people into trouble. I’ve been called to the head-mistresses office four times this year already thanks to you.
Clara: What about the time you got us all egged after one of your stupid jokes backfired.
Amy: What about the time I had to walk through the town dressed as a Christmas fairy because you couldn’t do the simple job of arranging some transport.
Clara: Stupid blonde bimbo.
Amy: Cock sucking whore.

The camera cuts to a shot showing Dwayne and Porcelain. They both look at each other, and with a knowing nod to each other step of to either side. The camera cuts back to Amy as the argument continues.

Clara: Tell me. Did they ever find out who on the rugby team was your father?
Amy: Well at least my dad didn’t get cheap thrills by fucking drainpi…………….. Aaah!

The interruption comes as Amy suddenly has a large bucket of pancake batter thrown over her. The camera cuts to a longer shot showing Clara also similarly covered, and Dwayne and Porcelain holding a bucket each at the doors.

Porcelain: Finished? There’s plenty more where that came from.
Amy: You numbskull! Your only making things worse.
Clara: Oh, you can talk.
Porcelain: ENOUGH! If you two don’t play nice I’ll start the game now, and you’ll have to work out for yourself what to do. Honestly, I don’t know what was worse, putting up with you two continuously spurning and tormenting me, or putting up with your constant petty bickering.
Dwayne: That’s why we came up with a little game where you can end things, once and for all.
Porcelain: Indeed! If you look above you you’ll see a load of pipes we’ve set up. In a few minutes they’ll be pumping out a load of black treacle, covering anyone still in the room.
Clara: What? What kind of sick idea is that?
Dwayne: Don’t worry. We’ve given you an easy way out if you don’t want that to happen.

Porcelain: If you look at the back of the room you’ll see a trough filled with maple syrup. In it are a number of shapes you should be able to grab using your teeth. All you’ve got to do is slot them in the appropriate shaped slot in the door. Once all the shapes are in place your door will open and you can escape.

Dwayne: There is one thing though. That cord attached to both your waists. It’s also tethering the two of you together via a pulley out back. You’ll notice there’s a limited amount of slack to share between you.

With a final look of acknowledgement between them Porcelain turns over an hourglass and they both walk off.
Amy and Clara both make a dash for the back of the room. The camera cuts to Amy’s stilettos as they step in a whipped cream covered pancake, causing her to slip, and stumble as she just keeps her footing. The camera cuts to Clara, her face inches above the maple syrup. In it we can just make out the geometric shapes lying on the bottom. Each has a small handle attached to it to allow it to be picked up. Clara takes a deep breath and plunges her face down in, until almost her whole head is submerged, the camera cuts to a shot taken under the syrup of Clara feeling for the handle, and grasping it with her teeth. Clara raises her head, and the camera cuts to a front shot of her as she strides forward as quickly as she can. Two thirds of the way there she suddenly stops. The camera cuts to an overhead shot showing that Amy has also made it halfway down the room, and like Clara is desperately trying to push forward. They both struggle and groan for a number of seconds, before the camera cuts to one of the hourglasses, showing about a quarter of the time has gone.
The camera cuts back to Amy as she’s pulled back and falls down on her backside, she is then dragged along the ground, through the pancakes, resulting in her legs and skirt getting covered in the different syrups and sauces. The camera then cuts back to Clara as she slots the first shape into the door, then back to Amy as she struggles to get back to her feet, her hands still cuffed behind her back. After a bit of a struggle she gingerly steps forward, getting closer and closer to the door. The camera cuts to the hour glass, about half the time has gone. It then cuts back to Amy as she gets close to the door, only for her to be stopped, as the camera cuts to Clara who has her second shape and is pulling against her. It looks like Amy is struggling again, so she suddenly takes several steps backwards. Clara is unprepared for this, and the sudden loosening of the strain causes her to tumble forward, dropping the shape she’s holding as she falls down into the messy pancakes, and is then dragged backwards through them as Amy pushes forward to put her shape in.

Clara: Stop being a bitch. I’m running out of time.

The camera cuts back quickly to the hourglass, showing about thirty percent of the time is left.

Amy: Fuck off!!

The camera cuts to Clara as she crouches down to pick up her dropped shape. This time once she has the shape she runs forward as fast as she can as Amy heads back to pick up her second shape. Just as she’s about to reach the door she suddenly halts, and slips down into pancakes, getting more of the cream and sauces on her, dropping her shape for a second time. The camera cuts to a rear view of Amy, who has braced herself with her back to the chain link fence separating the two of them, and is holding onto it as tightly as she can.

Clara: What are you doing?
Amy: If I’m going down I might as well take you with me.
Clara: No! Let go! Right now!
Amy: Come and make me!

In response Clara first tries pulling hard on the chord, and when that fails she marches over to where Amy is holding on, and kicks the chain link , but to little effect. She then takes a step back, and shoulder barges the fence as hard as she can. This causes Amy to sway, but she maintains her grip on the fence. The camera cuts to the hourglass as the sand runs out. A rain of treacle descends from the ceiling. Both Amy and Clara crouch down against the wall to try to protect themselves, but the rain is so intense they’re unable to do anything other than keep there heads down to protect some of their face. Soon both their hair and clothes are completely saturated, their legs and arms are completely covered in a thick, sticky, black layer. After forty to fifty seconds the rain subsides, and the camera cuts to a dejected looking Clara as she plops down into a three inch pool of treacle she’s now in, overcome by exhaustion and rage.

Clara: This is all your fault.

Scene 16:

The camera fades from a shot of Amy, to a computer screen showing the same image of Amy. We zoom out to see a corner of a room where a desk holding the computer is set up. We see one of Porcelain’s allies Garry sitting at the desk, with Dwayne and Porcelain standing behind him, watching over his shoulder. Porcelain has a particularly gleeful look on her face.

Garry: Well they failed. Looks like we’ve got another couple of prisoners. Shall I go down to unlock their wrists?
Porcelain: Let them stew for a little while first.
Garry: Do you think they ever had a chance?
Porcelain: Maybe if they’d actually put there differences aside. Sandy and Dwayne here gave it a couple of goes using just water, and they opened both doors and found the keys to the cuffs with a little time left.
Dwayne: We worked together though, we didn’t waste time fighting each other.
Garry: Do you think I should tell those two that?
Porcelain: I doubt it would be enough to teach them the benefits of co-operation.
Garry: It’d be funny though.
Dwayne: Now all this has been done, is it OK if I get changed so I can rejoin Sandy upstairs.
Porcelain: Are you worried about her? That’s so sweet. Don’t worry, she can take care of herself.
Garry: Be careful though. Now Amy and Clara have disappeared everyone’s bound to start getting even more suspicious. There’s only so much I can do, even having taken control of all the computers and communications here.
Porcelain: Yeah, stay away from Mrs Turnbull. You should be alright convincing everyone else your a new pupil if you have to, but I doubt she’d just let you go.

———————————
By the same Author
———————————

Sian: Welcome back to Comeuppance, with me Sian Welby! The vote is on to decide which of our three contestants – TV licence enforcer Stacy, high street fundraiser Ivana, or nightclub bouncer Karen – will be taking a trip to our dreaded Mucky Dip! In a moment I’ll catch up with them to reveal the current polling results. But first, it’s my pleasure to chat with Sasha Holdsworth, MSc chemistry.

Sian is standing to one side of the Mucky Dip, accompanied by a woman in a heavily stained lab coat.

Sian: Sasha is our muckologist-in-chief; i.e. she leads the team that concocts all the vile gunk that our contestants so fear! Sasha, thanks for taking time out to talk with us.

Sasha: It’s a pleasure Sian.

Sian: So how did you end up in this job?

Sasha: Well Sian, I recently graduated and I’m still deciding where to take my career in the long term, so this short-term contract came along at just the right time. My specialism is polymer chemistry, which means I’m an expert in all things sticky and slimy and stringy and squelchy! I also have a keen artistic side, and this job really lets me get creative. [grins] But most of all, it’s just so much fun!

Sian: That I can imagine. Can you talk us through the process of making the muck?

Sasha: Sure. The first stage is to perfect the recipe, which is done by trying out small amounts. Once we’re happy, we spend a good couple of days making the batch, by carefully feeding the ingredients into an industrial mixer. It takes 15,000 litres to fill the Mucky Dip…

Sian: [blinks] Wow!

Sasha: …which presents quite a logistical challenge. Luckily I’ve got an excellent team. Once the batch is fully mixed, it’s stored in the basement for three weeks.

Sian: Three weeks!?

Sasha: Oh yes, it has to mature. How do you think it gets its smell? We’ve already started work on the muck for episode 8!

Sian: And here’s the question everybody’s asking: what’s in it?

Sasha: [taps her nose] Oh, I couldn’t possibly disclose that! As you may have noticed, we use a different recipe for each batch, making each Mucky Dip a unique beast. However, a typical batch will have a good thirty or forty ingredients in it!

Sian: I have to say Sasha, your lab coat’s seen better days. Messy work, I take it?

Sasha: Yeah, stuff does get slung and splashed around; we don’t have time to do everything neatly and cleanly. Anyone that works in my lab must be prepared to get their hands dirty!

Sian: And I’ve heard from your underlings that you’re an avid practical joker.

Sasha: [with a cheeky grin] That’s right Sian! I think it helps with the team spirit! Whenever a new member joins the team I leave an open vial of dye in the centrifuge and ask them to switch it on! It gets quite messy! Oh, and I’ve installed a slime shower above the lab door to penalise latecomers, which has worked wonders for punctuality!

Sian: I won’t be coming near your lab then. Speaking of surprises, those cream cannons took everyone aback last week, including me! Got anything else up your sleeve?

Sasha: Ahh, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you. You’ll have to wait and see!

Sian: We look forward. Sasha, I’ll let you get back to your vital work – no don’t hug me! Ladies and gentlemen, Sasha Holdsworth!

The audience claps as Sasha returns backstage. Sian walks over to the other side of the mucky dip where the three contestants are languishing in their cages.

Sian: Fear not ladies, I haven’t forgotten about you! It’s almost time to reveal the mid-way voting scores, but before I do that, I think we should see exactly what Sasha has prepared for one of you. Without further ado…

Audience: LET’S PREVIEW THE GOO!!

The ceiling-mounted camera makes its spinning zoom into the mouth of the Mucky Dip. Blue is the overarching theme this week; the gunk blends continuously between a deep marine blue and an electric turquoise. There are a few small patches of orange to add a splash of contrast, and elegantly scripted in white gunge is

From Sasha,
with love
~ X ~

The scene then switches to the rim-side camera, which pans slowly across the surface. The texture is somewhat paste-like, glistening with fine lumps (think Lorna Bancroft but a bit wetter and stickier and with stronger colours). The inset box in the corner of the screen switches between the faces of the three women, showing their increasing disgust and dismay.

Sian: Oh look at that, she even signed her name! You can tell that a lot of love went into the stench of sauerkraut and gone-off anchovies that’s wafting down here! Now there’s someone who can be really proud of her job, unlike you lot!

The three women make to protest, but Sian silences them with a wave of her hand.

Sian: You’ll get your chance to speak in a moment, but time is pressing so let’s go straight to the mid-way scores.

Karen nods with a satisfied expression but otherwise doesn’t react. Stacy gives a half-smile of cautious relief. Ivana’s jaw drops open, absolutely gobsmacked.

Sian: Oh wow! No ambiguity there! Most of these polls have been very close, but this is shaping up to be a landslide! In fact, I wonder if we should just do the comeuppance now and be done with it!

The audience cheers enthusiastically.

Ivana: [wailing] NO!!

Sian: Nah, only joking! We have to stick to protocol. Speaking of which, ladies, it’s time for each of you to issue your fifteen-second statement on why it shouldn’t be you in Sasha’s goo! Karen, you’ve got the door, I mean, the floor…

Karen: [regarding the camera aloofly] I’m glad to see that folk appreciate the job I do. It’s thanks to me that well-behaved, classy clubbers can enjoy a night out, without riff-raff like Sian spoiling—

Sian: HOW DARE YOU!!

Once again the audience draw their breath in shock. The klaxon blares a couple of seconds later.

Karen: Hey, you interrupted! I didn’t get the full t—

Sian: [fuming] Tough! Now Stacy, your turn.

Stacy: [smiles] I’m pleased fewer people are voting for me this week; it must mean that many unlicensed viewers have done the right thing and switched off. [Smile drops] But if you’re still watching without one, be warned the net is closing in!!

The klaxon blasts and the audience boos.

Sian: Don’t give up, do you Stacy? Now Ivana, you’re on a lead of 23 percentage points! This is gonna be harder to turn around than a fully loaded supertanker, so you better have something good to say!

Ivana: [still shellshocked] Charity! I raise money for charity! Y’know, kids in Africa and cures for diseases and cute puppy dogs! Sure I might be a bit pushy in the street, but I have good causes at heart! [looks beseechingly into the camera] Do you like charity?

The klaxon blares. Boos and hisses reverberate around the studio.

Sian: Oh dear, Ivana, I think you’ve exhausted their charitable spirit! Good luck – you’ll sure need it!

Sian walks away leaving Ivana whimpering in her cage.

Sian: [facing forwards] The people are speaking loud and clear, and this could well be the day of reckoning for chuggers and their high street hectoring! But if you disagree – if you think it should be Stacy in the slosh or [grits her teeth] Karen in that cold crud – then you need to make your voice heard! Nothing’s impossible on this show, and the lead might change yet. Keep the votes coming, and I’ll see you later!

o

Before I do the next Splosh Pit, I’m going to do something a little bit different. Two of the acts featured in the first one had multiple female members (Warpaint and Triaxis) but only one member from each potentially getting gunged, and I personally hand-picked the members involved. Not that it mattered for Warpaint since their nominee avoided the gunge, but that’s beside the point!

This time, all three acts who will be partaking in the messy segments are going to have at least two women in them. The Splosh Pit Poll will be between Skillet and Eluveitie (pronounced “el-vay-tee” if you’re interested!), with Evarose (“ee-va-rose” – don’t worry, future instalments won’t need pronunciation guides!) facing the Five Hundred Challenge. However, this time I’m not picking who’s up for what. This time it’s up to you. Here are the rules:

1. While there are male members of Skillet and Eluveitie, only the women of the current line-ups each band will be up for the vote – Jen Ledger and Korey Cooper for Skillet; Shir-Ran Yinon and Anna Murphy for Eluveitie.
2. Evarose has no male members, so all four of them will be up for their vote.
3. Whoever wins the vote between Jen and Korey will be getting dunked if the audience decide to let Eluveitie play. Whoever wins the vote between Shir-Ran and Anna will be getting dunked if the audience decide to let Skillet play. A majority vote for Jen, Korey, Shir-Ran or Anna does not ensure that they will get gunged, only that they might. A lack of a majority ensures that they will not get gunged, though.
   
4. Whoever wins the vote between the Evarose members will be getting gunged at the end of the Five Hundred Challenge. Unlike the Skillet/Eluveitie polls, a majority vote for one of the Evarose members does ensure they will get gunged.
5. Voting will be unlimited. Democracy’s alright, but I want to see how much people want whoever gets it rather than just how many!
6. Only TellyGunge and myself will be able to view the results ahead of the story being posted. They’ll come at the end of part 3. I can’t stop TG from looking at them, but I trust him not to leak them.
7. You will have until the 24th of March to vote.

So, with that out of the way, let’s get to the voting.

Skillet:

Eluveitie:

Evarose:

Evarose. Member names are listed in the poll, left-to-right as you’re looking at them.

That’s about all. Get voting!

The segment begins with a shot from the bird’s-eye camera, focussed in on the words “From Sasha, With Love” written in white gunge. The camera then zooms out so we can see the chair stationed in front of the Mucky Dip, with Sian and the guards standing around it.

Sian: [looking up at the camera] Welcome to the final part of this week’s Comeuppance, where we’re about to reveal which contemptible contestant will be sitting in this chair and heading up there!

The scene switches to the regular camera view.

Sian: Thank you very much for your votes which have been coming in aplenty. Polling is now closed, so please don’t call; your vote will carry no weight but your call may nonetheless cost you.

The trio stroll around to the area where the cages are located. Sian goes straight up to the central cage.

Sian: Not looking good for you, is it Ivana?

Ivana: [cringing] No, but I hope after my appeal people will appreciate the good causes I raise money for.

Sian: [wagging her head from side to side] It’s possible. And Stacy, I wouldn’t look too smug, knowing what I know.

Stacy: [gulping] W-what do you know?

Sian: Nothing in particular, except that there’s been a lot more votes. [Sian stalks over to the right-hand cage] So even you might not be safe, Karen.

Karen just looks Sian disdainfully up and down.

Sian: Ok… I’m getting word that the final scores have been confirmed. Let’s have this!

The lighting goes down, save three spotlights singling out the cages, and the dramatic music plays. Karen stands stoically, arms crossed, feet slightly apart. Stacy bites her nails and fidgets her feet. Ivana has her hands over her face.

Sian: The public have delivered their verdict, and it is as follows.

Stacy pumps her fist and mouths “yes!” Karen responds with only a slight nod of satsifaction. With her hands still pressed to her face, Ivana bleats as she observes the result through her fingers.

Sian: Not the greatest surprise ever. Gents, take that chugger away to her comeuppance!

The guards unlock the cage, yank Ivana out and bundle her over towards the waiting chair.

Sian: [unlocks Karen’s cage] If there’s one thing worse than having to hand out a Jammy Dodger trophy… [walks over and unlocks Stacy’s cage] it’s having to hand out two of the things! Karen, it riles me to say this: your name’s not on our gungy guest-list and you’re not going in! You must be pleased.

Karen: [with a casual grin] No sweat. I knew the public would back me up.

Sian: And Stacy, coming second place for a second time is enough to get you off the hook as well. You can return to Bath without taking a bath in our ghastly goo. How do you feel?

Stacy: Really relieved, Sian. I can go back to busting licence dodgers without a worry in the world!

Sian: Well here’s a Jammy Dodger trophy to further your satisfaction. Maybe you can stick it on the roof of your van and say it’s part of your TV-detecting equipment! Karen, here’s one for you to keep at the door of your club in Cardiff. Thanks, both of you, for coming on the show and braving the muck.

Karen: That’s quite alright Sian. By the way, I’m going to upload your photo onto Clubwatch.

Sian: What’s that?

Karen: It’s a website for door personnel to share pictures of known troublemakers. Good luck getting into anywhere!

Sian: [snarls] Why you—!!

Stacy: And I’m going to add your address to our investigation list. Expect a knock at the door in the near future!

Sian: Huh? But I have a TV licence!

Stacy: I know, but it’ll be fun to wind you up!

Sian: [scowling] It’s too bad I can’t overrule the public’s decision. Ladies and gents, some half-hearted applause for this dastardly double act!

A slow hand-clap ensues as Stacy and Karen high-five and stroll off stage with their trophies.

Sian: [tutting as she watches them go] Tonight’s result means that we’ll have three brand new contestants facing judgement next week; you won’t want to miss it. [Arrives by the gleaming white plinth]. And speaking of the unmissable, the winch has chugged the chair into position over the Mucky Dip! [Looks up] Hi there Ivana! How you doing today? Can you spare me a minute of your time? It’s for a good cause!

Purcell’s ominous elegy commences, and the scene switches to a camera level with the opening of the Mucky Dip, taking in the lumpy sea of blended blue and turquoise. The camera sweeps over Sasha’s mocking message, then begins its ascent, meeting Ivana’s bare, squirming feet about a metre up. Ivana has fairly large feet for a woman, with long slender toes, and her toenails are painted the same very dark red as her fingernails. The shot continues upwards, traversing Ivana’s jean-clad legs. It then sweeps over her bright red t-shirt, passing that pert, high-set bust that hasn’t escaped the attention of any red-blooded male in the audience. Finally, the camera comes to rest at Ivana’s face. Her full lips pout and her eyes ruefully regard the fate that awaits her.

Sian: Ooh, look at that face, deep in contemplation! Is she mulling the plight of the third world, I wonder? Or brooding over some poor, endangered species? Or might she be lamenting her own sorry arse as it teeters above the slop!

Sian places her hand on the big red button. Ivana closes her eyes and screws up her face.

Sian: Ivana, on behalf of everyone who’s been harassed and guilt-tripped by chuggers…

Sian and audience: …HERE IS YOUR COMEUPPANCE!!!

Sian belts the button down. Around the studio, triumphant showers of sparks explode. The winch releases, and Ivana’s body jolts as the chair goes into free fall.

Ivana: YEEEEEEEP!!

The squealing girl vanishes into the vat and a ring of blue-turquoise surf leaps up in her place. A surging wave washes over the rim of the Mucky Dip, revealing the true nastiness of the coarse texture as it gloops down the sides of the vat and splatters onto the stage. Meanwhile, the cables trailing into the Dip jerk about, while an unpalatable sound effect, evoking images of an ogre with indigestion, plays. Then the cables go taut and the prey is retrieved from the deep, while the forlorn trombone heralds her humiliation and a huge cheer reverberates around the warehouse studio.

The chugger’s pillar-box red has been replaced with an equally eye-catching palette of blues, but this time not limited to her t-shirt. Ivana’s left side is mostly a rich royal blue, while her right is dominated by a snotty turquoise. Her left foot is coated in white, presumably from Sasha’s script, and there’s a small splodge of orange right on the crown of her head. The gunk is a sloppy, grainy paste; it slithers in thick layers all over Ivana’s body. It runs down her neck and chest into the opening of her t-shirt, dragging chillingly against her skin. Her tight titties are more pronounced than ever, protruding cold and indignant through the saturated fabric. Goo drips from the hems of her sodden jeans.

Ivana’s hair is nowhere to be seen, although a sky-blue crest at the front of her head suggests that her fringe has been swept upward by the impact with the muck. Amid her blue-coated face, eyes boggle in shock; there are even lumps clinging to her twitching lashes. Her mouth briefly gapes for air, but hurriedly closes as the grot drips into it. Ivana rasps and splutters in the chair.

Ivana: Plah! Pleugh!! PLEEEURRRGHHH!!!

Sian: Wow, oh wow!! Stupendous!! She definitely made her direct debit, didn’t she? Oh look, here comes the Gift Aid!

Two mechanical arms descend from the ceiling, each carrying a ginormous pie. The cream has a green-yellow tinge – evidently not too fresh. The spectators cheer and laugh as the pies line up with their target. Ivana, contending with the muck, is the only person who hasn’t noticed this bonus mess creeping up on her.

In a pincer movement the arms swing inwards, sandwiching Ivana like a pair of cymbals. Her limbs flail comically as her head disappears into a huge pile of curdled cream. The audience roars with mirth.

Sian: Oh-ho-ho! Sasha didn’t disappoint! That was a majorly-overdue comeuppance, by huge popular demand, and it’s worth enjoying it all over again in super-duper slow-mo!

There duly follows a slow-motion replay of Ivana’s last clean moments. Every muscle in her body jerks as the winch gives way. The air can be seen to evacuate her lungs as she screams her way towards the gunk.

Sian: And from above!

The bird’s-eye camera shows Ivana’s dirty-blonde hair, the top of her red clad torso, and the blue of her denim-clad thighs as she descends to her demise. She plunges right into the middle of the writing, instantly destroying Sasha’s graceful hand, and sending little pieces of white bobbing on the churning muck as a wave rushes outwards. Globs splatter up against her Ivana’s T-shirt and face, split-seconds before she sinks into the maelstrom. Her hair stands no chance and is promptly buried with the rest of her.

Sian: And let’s have a another look at that pie sandwich!

The scene relives the moment when the king-size pies close in on their victim’s head. Caught completely unaware, Ivana jolts as the rank cream smothers her features. Her arms and legs wave about as if she’s performing a particularly uncoordinated doggy paddle.

The scene reverts to the present. Ivana sits gagging as she scoops the smelly gunge and rancid cream out of her hair and face.

Sian: Ivana, I have to say your new blue uniform suits you much better than the red – you can do your next chugging session wearing it! Luckily the stink will give pedestrians advance warning so they can avoid you! Remember folks, giving just two pounds a month will buy the soap a comeuppancee like Ivana needs to get clean and fresh again! Ha ha ha!

Ivana has little to say as she continues to wipe herself, flicking her arms in a futile attempt to get the gunk off her hands.

Sian: But joking aside, Ivana, you’ve been a good sport. You signed up for this ordeal voluntarily, and we appreciate that.

Ivana nods and musters a squeamish smile of acknowledgement under all the mess. This is promptly extinguished by another robotic arm, which descends and smashes a pie on the top of her head. A fresh wave of fetid cream smothers Ivana’s hair, gloops down her face and splatters onto her shoulders and chest.

Sian: That’s it! Give her another pie! [turns to the audience] And the moral of tonight’s story is that charity is no hiding place for obnoxious behaviour. Of course, there are plenty of good causes out there, and plenty of ways to support them with whatever money, items or time you can afford – without being pressured by the high street profiteers. Thanks for watching and voting, and good night!

The groovy outro music plays. Sian takes position at the edge of the stage, waving as the camera zooms out. There follows a series of shots of people in the audience, clapping, dancing and playing up to the camera. Then the scene returns to Ivana, looking cold and miserable in her sloppy state. An arm descends in front of her with yet another putrid pie. Ivana just stares resignedly at the creamy punishment before it is smashed into her face. The show closes with a slow-motion replay of the chugger emerging – a ruined blue blob – from the Mucky Dip.

Sometimes it wasn’t clear where Chrissie Williams the character ended and Chrissie Williams the person began.  For the past four years she’d played the role of the alpha bitch host of the popular TV show Talent Spotters. It was difficult to believe that today would be her final appearance on the show. Right now was her last time getting her hair, make-up and feet done ahead of the taping of the finale of the current series. Usually she would have been getting worked on alone, but her dressing room today was shared with Daisy, the girl they’d selected to be her replacement. Chrissie had been asked to host this series finale along with her to help ease her in and to try and make for a smooth transition for the show’s audience. Soon she would be moving from Britain to America to co-present a popular talk show over there. This was the biggest break of her career so far, but in order to make it, she was going to have to say goodbye to both Talent Spotters, and to Chrissie Williams, a character who she felt in many ways was her greatest, but also her worst, creation.

Talent Spotters had started off just like any other talent show, but came at a time when the public’s appetite for fame-hungry contestants seeking their five minutes of fame was starting to wane. Although they were doing okay in the ratings, the channel had been expecting a massive hit, so the producers – which included Chrissie herself – had been forced to come up with ideas to try and grab a higher level of attention. So they came up with the rather cruel notion of subjecting the least talented, or at least the most annoying, contestants to various embarrassing, and usually messy, forfeits, such as pieing them in the face or covering them in gunge. This was such a success that the forfeits became by far the most popular part of the show, to the point that it got where it was no longer just the worst contestants who ended up facing the mess, but almost anyone who performed apart from the winners. So as the hostess, she’d come up with an alter-ego to fit this new edge to the show: a cruel, merciless mistress of the mess who relished tormenting those brought before her. This meant that Chrissie had a weird relationship with the fans of the show; at once, they loved her humiliating any contestant they didn’t like, but they hated her if she targeted someone they viewed as undeserving of such cruel treatment. By this point in the show’s run, it was safe to say she was absolutely reviled across the country.

Evil was sexy, and with her tousled auburn hair that had a sultry, windswept look about it and dazzling low cut silver dress, Chrissie screamed carnality. It was a well-known fact that Chrissie Williams had a small army who slaved over every aspect of her appearance and indulged her every whim (in reality it was usually only Ron and Bethany, who although they did an excellent job, did force her to make her own tea). A pair of silver embellished cross strapped high heels adorned, and showed off, her manicured feet. Out of character at least, Chrissie had few indulgencies, but she did love getting her feet done, and it was one of the perks of the job.  Her toenails, which were peeking out at the front, were painted a cheerful shade of turquoise blue.

“I’m pure nervous right now!” said Daisy, a girl of twenty from Edinburgh who was a bundle of excited energy sitting next to her. “I can’t believe I’m actually on Talent Spotters. Like, the only thing I’ve ever presented before now was an obscure kid’s TV show where I had five other people with me, so I could just kind of blend into the background a little if I wanted. I’m pure glad to be going out there with you tonight.”

You pure love saying pure all the time, don’t you, you Scottish twat? You’re pure, like, a pureaholic.

Not now, Chrissie thought. When it was close to show time, the bitch’s voice tended to speak up unbidden. Personally, she liked Daisy a lot, and was looking forward to working with her, even if it was just for one show.

“It’s going to be weird working with my replacement, but I’m excited too! Don’t worry, everybody loved your auditions so you just have to do what you’ve been doing,” Chrissie said, offering her a reassuring smile. Daisy leaned over and spoke in tones of one offering a deep confession.

“I was actually pure worried about meeting you. I didn’t know what was going to happen when we first met! You look…” – she seemed to try to think of a word that wasn’t ‘pure’ and failed – “pure mean on TV, but you’re nice in person, at least!”

“Yeah, it’s all just part of the show. I have a lot of respect for anyone brave enough to put themselves on the line, especially with what we do to most of them. I mean, imagine you’re a contestant going out there to perform, giving it your absolute best, and not only losing, but then having to get messy in front of everyone. Instead of encouraging your talent and praising your effort, we degrade you publically. It’s an amazingly cruel thing to be doing, when you think about it. Which, back when we were struggling in the ratings and our jobs were on the line, I guess it’s fair to say we didn’t.”

“I guess, when you put it that way. It’s not like they don’t know what they’re signing up for, though. A lot of them seem to find it pretty fun, from what I’ve seen and heard. Some people even consider it an honour. I take it you’re pure glad to be leaving it behind?”

Chrissie considered the question. She’d lived with this weird, sadistic character for four years. Yet she wasn’t an actress, nor was she a writer. So she sometimes wondered how much of herself was really in the character. Chrissie the character absolutely delighted in the opportunity to torment these desperate, pathetic fame-whores. Personally, she’d often let people away with it. The forfeits on the show were entirely at her own discretion, the only condition being that the winners had to be kept clean no matter what. When she’d first started on the show, she’d been your typical perky presenter. She wasn’t just the viewers’ friend, she was the contestants’ as well, always congratulating them on their successes and with a natural instinct for picking them back up after their failures. Yet there were definitely times when she’d found it very gratifying to humiliate some of the more unpleasant contestants, be it an overbearing diva (like one young dancer from a few months back who still tweeted threats at her to this day) or a cocky young male with no talent but plenty to say for themselves. And it did seem that this series especially that those she let off were few and far between. In the past she’d always let the more talented contestants, or the more pleasant, or the ones who seemed a little (or in some cases a lot) uncomfortable about getting messy away with it. She’d gotten too desensitised to it all. When she’d started, she’d still seen them all as people, even the most irritating and fame-hungry of them. Now though… she was like the viewers at home, getting sick of them all.

And enjoying their humiliation, right? Not to mention the power. Their fate being totally in your hands…

No-one asked you, she thought. Well, after tonight, I never have to use – or hear – that cruel, smug voice ever again.

“There’s definitely things I’ll miss about it,” she said finally. They fell into an awkward silence when it became clear that she wasn’t going to elaborate on this, but Daisy, showing recovery skills that would surely be of a benefit to her on the show, soon spoke up again.

“Oh, while you’re still here, I wonder if I could ask whether there’s any advice you could give me?”

“I think the best advice I can give you is just to be yourself! I mean, that was kind of the point of them hiring you, wasn’t it? Everyone else we saw tried to do an impression of me and it just looked silly or forced (or frightening, in some cases!). You just went on and did your own thing, and we all felt that was exactly what we needed. If we can’t have someone doing the same thing better, we should get someone who can do something just as good, but different. With you as the host, I think they’ll gradually phase out the crueller aspects of the show, which is probably for the best, honestly.”

Daisy blushed happily at the compliment. The girl’s appearance was as dainty as her name, with subtle makeup that highlighted her dove-like brown eyes and cheeks. Her medium-length brown hair looked spectacular with the caramel highlights that ran through it. While Chrissie wore her hair down, Daisy’s was pinned in an updo. Adorning her body was a pretty blue floral dress. When they went out on stage together, it would probably look like Chrissie Williams could eat this delicate girl alive in a heartbeat, but she definitely had the cute factor!

Once the two of them were sufficiently dolled up, the two of them walked out on to the set and looked out at the empty hall. The show typically pooled it’s contestants from universities around the country, and each show was taped at a different location. This particular university didn’t quite have anything that fitted their requirements on campus, but they had an auditorium not far for the main building that they regularly had use of on big occasions. The seats around the room would be filled mainly by their fellow students, who would be able to vote on their favourites in each category (thus making them the ‘Talent Spotters’ from the show’s title). The room had been set up to fit an ominous-looking contraption off to the side of the main stage. Chrissie had been waiting for this ever since the idea of her alpha bitch character had first started to take hold in her mind. There was one constant since that day that had run through every episode of the show, and that was that Chrissie Williams the character – and therefore she, since they obviously shared the same body – had never gotten so much as a speck of gunk on her. This was a comeuppance nearly four years in the making.

Oh yes, I might have guessed. It’s always me who comes up with the ideas for the mess for this show, and I’ve kept it fresh (the ideas anyway, the gunge quite the opposite) for four years. So of course without me all they can come up with is the fucking Get Your Own Back gunk dunk.

“Blech!” said Daisy, poking her tongue out and laughing. “Too bad they didn’t phase it out a bit quicker. I pure hope it’s not me going in there later!”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Chrissie smiled. “I’m pretty sure it’s going to be rigged so that I’m the one who gets it.”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Daisy. “At least, they’ve pretty much told me it’s going to be legit.”

Ha! I knew they didn’t have the balls to go through with it! I’m a queen to these people. A goddess. Yes, let Daisy get it. Let any and all of them get it, so long as it saves my own flawless skin.

Chrissie knew the producers had been in two minds about it, but she’d thought in the end, they would make sure she would be the one who went in. Every series finale they’d brought up the idea of the character finally getting what she deserved after so gleefully dishing it out to the contestants. Every year people took to message boards and twitter asking whether this would finally be when she got it. Even the media brought it up. She was up for it; although she really wasn’t too keen on being gunged, she was a performer with a keen sense of drama, and she knew that the crowd both live in studio and at home would love to see her messy doom so much that it would absolutely be worth going through with. Besides, even if she wasn’t as horrible as her character, she’d still been responsible for handing out a ton of humiliation, so she couldn’t very well justify even to herself the idea that she should in the end get away scot-free. Until now, however, they’d always known that both the show and the presenter would be back for another run, so they’d kept putting it off. Finally gunging Chrissie was the ultimate payoff that they could put on the show, and every time it didn’t happen, the thought of it just got bigger and bigger.

There had been a few unscripted near misses during the run of the show, and whenever something messy headed her way, it always seemed to Chrissie like the character suddenly took control of her body and manoeuvred her out of the way. Like when one contestant had gotten gunged and tried to creep up behind her for a messy hug. She’d just seen it from the corner of her eye and before her brain had seemed to register what was about to happen, she was already fleeing the stage like a bolt of lightning. Or whenever she smacked someone with a pie with a bit too much enthusiasm and quickly stepped back to make sure nothing splattered back over her.

True, I think it’s much better to give than to receive. Just look at me, honey. I’m perfect. I’m flawless. I’m divine. It would be a crime if anything denigrating ever happened to me!

The thing of it was that the idea of Chrissie William’s comeuppance had been held off for so long and gotten so big that the producers now weren’t sure that they ever wanted to do it. The character had gotten too big to fail, some of them had actually argued. No-one except Chrissie was willing to accept that this was really the end of the character. She’d been a huge part of the success of the show, and if things didn’t work out for her in America she’d be back, wouldn’t she? Besides which, everyone liked Chrissie, and even though she was willing to go through with it, she was their baby: they’d taken her under their wing from day one, and she’d grown so much as a person through knowing and working with these people that none of them really wanted to see her humiliated. They’d argued back and forth and kept changing their minds over and over.  So they’d compromised: they would put both she and the new host on chairs above the gunge, ask them three questions each, and whoever got the most right answers would escape clean, while the loser would fall into the gunk below. Since they couldn’t work out what to do themselves, they’d let fate decide.

I doubt they’ll be able to wipe their arses without me around.

Before the girls could get much of a look at the gunge that awaited one of them later on, the show director approached, along with the contestants, to get started with rehearsals.

“There is one more piece of advice I want to give you before we get started,” said Chrissie, laying a hand on Daisy’s arm.

“What’s that?” asked Daisy, looking eager to learn.

“For heaven’s sake, don’t go out there tonight and say ‘pure’ five hundred times on stage.”

“Oh!” Daisy gasped. “I didn’t even know I was doing that! I just do it when I get p- uh, when I get nervous.”

“Relax and enjoy yourself,” said Chrissie with a smile.

***

When the taping began, an incredible transformation came over Chrissie. A cruel glint appeared in her eyes. A beatific smile suddenly took on an unmistakably arrogant twist. Her presence, quite unassuming before, seemed slowly to extend outwards as if to fill the room. She became sultry, radiant, elegant.  She was a gorgeous looking woman before the rippling changes, but now she was something so much more: whereas once she would have turned heads merely upon entering a room, now she would have stopped the room dead with her appearance alone. The sheer magnitude of the woman seemed to suck the air out of the room. Every eye in the auditorium was on her.

And she smiled at the crowd, with a slight sneer that questioned the significance of any of them. Daisy looked overwhelmed momentarily. Although her demeanour didn’t change in any way, Chrissie gave her a reassuring squeeze where the cameras couldn’t see. You’re going to do fine, she thought.

“Ladies and gentleman, welcome to the series finale of Talent Spotters! I’m your host Chrissie Williams…”

She paused for a moment until the boos died out.

Look at those spotty geeks over there from the engineering department booing! Ha, I love it. Fucking losers. And check those fat girls behind them! Booing because “oh please God why can’t we be as pretty as you?”

“And I hate to break it to you all, given all the love from the room that’s pouring over me right now…”

More booing, louder than before, echoed through the hall. This was the most hyped crowd she’d seen in a while, and she felt glad to be going out with people here to have fun.

“But tonight will be the last time you geeks ever see me at the helm of this show. I’m off to America, to bigger and better things, to fulfil my dreams – nothing like the wet dreams some of you have about me every night, which I can assure you will never be fulfilled– and make my mark in a country that truly appreciates who I am and what I do. So joining me for the show is this delicate flower, Dainty Daisy here, who’ll I’m told will be stepping into my shoes – get a shot of these by the way, aren’t they just gorgeous – as if she or anybody else could ever fit. You couldn’t even afford shoes this good, could you Daisy, look at you, you might as well have come out here in a pair of trainers or something.”

Daisy looked shocked; Chrissie, as she often did, had went off script in the moment. There was a big difference between Chrissie in rehearsals and Chrissie on stage. The character really took over when it was show time.

“There’s nothing wrong with my shoes, thank you! And we’ll all just be glad to see the back of you, won’t we everybody?”

The crowd gave a resounding ‘YES!’.

“You know, I see you come out here every week and be p- so mean to all these lovely contestants. Well tonight I’m here to keep you in check. You’re nothing but a bully, but you don’t scare me one bit.”

Chrissie walked over to the girl and stared at her with the best condescending smile she had. The girl seemed to shrink.

“What’s the matter, precious Daisy?” asked Chrissie in a voice dripping with honey. “Starting to wilt already?”

“I can give as good as I take,” said Daisy firmly.

“I don’t know Daisy, I play pretty hard,” said Chrissie, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her in close. She held her there as they both turned back to look at the camera.

Let there be no mistake who’s in charge here. This is still my stage, and you’re nothing but an upstart!

“And some of our unfortunate contestants are going to find that out as well! First up tonight we have some… god… impressionists battling it out for that big money prize (pocket change to what I’ll be making in America, but hey, we all have to start somewhere!)”

***

Things didn’t look good for Shona Warner, who’d committed that most terrible of crimes, not being very good at singing. They’d been light on the forfeits all through the show, with Daisy playing good cop to Chrissie’s bad cop. Usually a bad singer might well expect a trip to the gunge tank, but they were going easy on the gunge in order to save that for the grand finale. So now Chrissie held a massive gooey cream pie just under Shona’s chin. It was actually disappointing that the woman had such a poor voice, since she definitely had the superstar look, with beautiful honey golden skin and long braided black hair.

“Did you imagine this is how things were going to go tonight?” Chrissie asked snidely. “Did you think you’d be standing here getting a pie in the face?”

“Yeah, I kind of did honestly” said Shona, smiling. “I don’t mind too bad though, I’ve kind of always wanted to get pied before, so it might be fun.”

Oh really? 

Unfortunately for Shona, while she might have enjoyed it if someone else did it, Chrissie Williams wasn’t the kind of person who handed out pies you enjoyed. Chrissie had mastered the art of the mean pie. She smacked the pie hard off her face, but held and slid it hard so that it got up her nose, causing her to actually snort parts of the pie back out of it. That invisible presence she’d felt so many times before delicately glided her glittering silver shoes carefully out of the way of them. If she’d only had one pie, she would have also been sure to trail it to the top of her head to ruin Shona’s long braided hair, but in fact she had another sitting next to her ready. Before Shona could consider whether she ever wanted to be pied again, the second pie was splatted against the top of her head, Chrissie gleefully trailing it down the back of her hair to ensure as much of it as possible got a custard pie-shampooing. The fact that she knew full well how much of a riot it would be for the girl to fix her hair back up after washing the pie out made it all the more satisfying. It would be much the same if anything happened to her famous tousled locks.

“Was that everything you’d hoped for?” asked Chrissie, kneeling down and giving her a good sneering at. She held the microphone at arms length.

“Uh, no, I didn’t really enjoy that too much. You got it all up in my nose,” said Shona, pie trickling from her head.

After the singing contest ended, Chrissie and Daisy made their way over to the side of the stage to allow a number of past winners from the current series on to the stage to perform a weird collaboration. As they did, a large screen next to the stage played a video of Chrissie’s greatest moments throughout her whole run, from back on her first day when she looked super fresh-faced and nervous (and had done a way poorer job than Daisy had tonight!), to the first time she’d pied someone in the face (a weak pieing that lightly dabbed her victim’s face; this was before she’d mastered the art of the mean pie), to a girl in a magnificent red dress hanging onto the door of the gunge tank while she and two stagehands tried to cram her in. While this was happening, some of the people she’d worked alongside this whole time came up to her off-camera and thanked her for her work and wished her all the best. She was handed a bouquet of flowers and a card, which were quickly carried backstage given what was coming next. It was all she could do not to burst into tears, but that wouldn’t have fit her character at all. Now Daisy was the one comforting her. Chrissie sniffed, and immediately regretted it; they were positioned over near the gunk dunk, and she caught a very unpleasant smell coming from it. How she was going to keep herself together during the final segment she had no idea.

“Thanks to all our past winners for travelling to be with us here tonight,” said Chrissie, as she and Daisy took their place at the centre of the throng assembled on stage. “And that’s probably the last time you’ll be hearing from any of them! And at least on this show, it’s the last time you’ll be hearing from me…”

“Wait a minute, Chrissie,” said Daisy, placing a hand on her shoulder. Chrissie looked at it, a feigned uncertainty appearing there that was a completely new facet of her fictional persona. No matter what, Chrissie was always in command. Until now. Now it was Daisy’s turn to transform, and if it were much more subtle than her own, there was still an unmistakable authority there that had been missing before.

Go for it, Daisy. This is your stage now.

No, it’s really not, you know. It always has been – and always will be – Chrissie William’s stage. There’s not one person, not one, out there who can come on here and compare to me. I’m magnificent. I own any stage I’m on, bitch, and you? And this show? You’re nothing without me.

“Before we say goodbye to you, there’s a few friends who wanted to be here tonight to give you, well, the send-off we think you deserve,” said Daisy.

Chrissie looked around befuddled as all of the evening’s losers (including Shona, still with pie all over the shop), along with a number of losers from the past year and before, herded onto the stage from both sides and surrounded her. She was relieved to note that the girl in the red dress in the video wasn’t among them, but she wasn’t really surprised. It was highly unlikely that that particular contestant would ever appear within ten miles of a Talent Spotters taping for any reason. All of those who had made it here though had, in some form or another, suffered denigration at Chrissie William’s hands.

“This can’t be happening!” she blurted out, completely taken off guard by the fact that she’d said it. It felt as though someone else was talking through her. “I happen to other people! Other people don’t happen to me!”

“Now there’s nowhere for you to run to Chrissie,” said Daisy with a smile. Daisy was actually pretty good at playing this ‘deviously coy’ act. It looked like she was getting into the moment as well.

“Check my contract,” Chrissie snarled, getting back on script. “You’re not allowed to gunge me.”

“Does anyone here care about your contract?”

“No!” cried the audience as one.

“But I tell you what: I want my reign on this show to be a considerably kinder and fairer one than yours was, so I’m going to do what you’d never do and give you a chance to get away clean. We only gunge losers on this show, isn’t that right? You said you liked to play pretty hard, so before you get out of our lives (for good we hope!) we’re going to play a game, you and I. Over beside the stage here we’ve got the largest, messiest, smelliest vat of gunge that’s ever been seen in the history of the show. We’ve got two chairs sitting facing each other on either side. We’ll each take our seats and be asked three questions each. Each time we get a question wrong, our seats will be cranked up a notch above the gunge. Whoever has the most correct answers is the winner, and the loser ends up well and truly gunked.”

Chrissie gave a predatory smile that showed her teeth.

“I always say be careful what you wish for. It’s going to be a pleasure to beat you and dunk you into that vat. One last humiliation before I go, what could possibly be more fitting than that?”

Daisy took her seat on the dunk tank first, not looking entirely confident, but clearly very game. Chrissie felt herself hesitate for a moment, and then she took her chair like a queen taking a seat on her throne, although it was unlikely that any queen ever had to take care to avoid dipping their feet in slime as they sat down.  She didn’t want to accidentally get slime all over her silver shoes. Below her was the biggest amount of slime she’d ever seen in all her time working on messy TV. Up close, she could see just how thick and gloopy gunge was. The majority of it was yellow, although in the middle there was a large red splotch that made it look like she was taking part in the world’s strangest ink blot test. To her it looked like a wolf, grinning up at her, about to eat her whole. She gulped. She wished she’d worn something else rather than get those nice shoes and dress covered in slop, but she’d wanted to go out looking her best. Which was rather ironic, given how things were probably about to turn out. She knew she had to get messy, but she wished they’d chosen a way that would have spared her feet from the slime, at least.

Forget about my feet, there’s no part of my divine body that should be getting covered in gunk. This is a travesty! We mustn’t lose! We can’t lose!

One of the past winners who’d been a firm fan favourite, a man named Mike, was handed a number of cards with questions and answers on them. He threw the first question out to Daisy, a science question that she immediately had to confess she didn’t even have a guess at. Mike, who had in fact not won his prize in the show hosting ability category, instead of yelling for Daisy’s chair to be cranked up, waved vaguely at someone until they moved her up a notch. He was doing fine, but she wished they’d found someone with a bit more sense of drama.

“Okay, Chrissie, your first question: Who was the first winner of American Idol?”

“Um… I-I don’t know… I don’t really pay attention to other shows. Other people pay attention to mine!”

“Kelly Clarkson was the answer we were looking for, and you know what means…”

Now you’re getting it, thought Chrissie.

“You know, that means, we uh, move her on up,” said Mike lamely, waving vaguely again. Chrissie gave a surprised scream as her chair suddenly jerked backwards. It gave such a sharp judder that for a moment she thought it was about to throw her off like a bucking bronco straight down into the gunge. Her hands dug tightly against the sides of the chair. Her pretty polished toes wriggled in nervous anticipation.

You can’t seriously go through with this!? Stop this! Stop it right now! They’ll listen to you – they like you!

She gave an audible sigh of relief as her replacement got her second question wrong.

“Okay, Chrissie, question number two: Who was the lead singer of The Cure?”

“I’ve no idea!” screamed Chrissie. “I don’t pay attention to other people, other pe-”

“Yes, we get it,” said Daisy with a smirk. “You’re full of yourself. We know.”

Chrissie’s jaw dropped. None of the audience had ever thought they’d see the day when Chrissie Williams was rendered speechless.

That cheeky little bitch! She’s the one that’s full of herself!

The third time was not the charm for poor Daisy, who once again got her question wrong and got cranked up to the maximum level. She bit her lip nervously as she looked down at the slime, which was so far away, and yet somehow she was so close to going into.

“Okay, so far nobody’s been able to answer a question successfully. Chrissie, if you can answer this one, you’ll be sending Daisy into the gunge. What would an acrophobe be afraid of?”

Chrissie’s head, which had been angled to look despondently at the gunge, suddenly jerked upright, because something amazing had just happened: she actually knew the answer to the question. She couldn’t believe it. After four years of humiliating people, she was actually going to pull a Karma Houdini and get away clean. Her confidence returned, and grew until it was an arrogance which, in it’s own way, was as repulsive as the slime. Her eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Oh my… not exactly the brightest Daisy in the field now, are you my dear? You couldn’t even get one question right. Not one!”

And now you’re about to get ‘pure’ gunged! 

She turned to Mike and beamed.

“I’m sorry Mike – and sorry to all of you – because none of you are going to be getting your revenge here today. Mike? The answer to your question? What would an acrophobe be afraid of? That’s easy, Mike: they’re afraid of acrobats.”

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!? Wait a fuckin’ minute here…

“Uh… the answer on the card is ‘heights’…” said Mike uncertainly. “I don’t… think we can accept that.”

You did that on purpose!

One of the producers hurried over and whispered in Mike’s ear.

“No, we can’t accept that I’m afraid, so we’re going to go to a tiebreak. These questions will be thrown open to both of you, and the first person to get a correct answer will be a winner. Oh, we also need to move Chrissie up on the uh, the thing here.”

No-one would even know your name if it wasn’t for me! And THIS is how you repay me!?

This time, Chrissie sat stoically as the chair awkwardly jerked her up to the top of the ramp.

“Which language gave us the word ‘alphabet’?”

Greek! For God’s sake, Greek!

Chrissie said nothing. Daisy looked like she was thinking hard. She hoped she wasn’t going to have to try and mouth the right answer to the girl.

“Greek?” said Daisy after a moment.

“Is the correct answer! So we know what that means don’t we? Chrissie gets the gunge!”

Chrissie laughed, while that unbearable, arrogant voice in her head began to scream obscenities at her. She looked down at the gunge, and winked at Daisy. Then she did something that she would never quite be able to explain, and probably was best not to even attempt to. For four years, she’d had a weird relationship with this character. While she was on stage, she let this incredibly mean and unpleasant woman, who really did seem to exist and think for herself, just in an entirely different place from her, use her voice. Borrow her body. But she was still always there, co-existing with her in a way. And now she moved the character completely to the front, and moved herself to the back.

Chrissie Williams woke up.

“No!” she squealed, almost leaping off the seat accidentally in her panic.

You’ve had this coming for a long, long time.

“I don’t deserve this!” Chrissie screamed. Her fists clenched the sides of the chair tightly, while her body trembled. Her head shook back and forth in abject rejection of the horror that awaited her below. Her legs dangled helplessly. She, who had been in control of every last thing that happened during her time on the show, was now totally powerless. She could only watch as Daisy was helped down off the seat and took her place next to Mike in front of a lever. They both indicated for the other to grab it, laughed, and decided to do it together. Mike’s hand dropped over Daisy’s.

They almost look like a cute couple, don’t they?

Tell them to stop this! Right now!

Can’t. Won’t. Goodbye, Chrissie Williams. I really don’t like you very much.

“NOOOOOOO!!!” wailed Chrissie. But the audience screamed yes. “I was made for great things! I wasn’t made for swimming in gloop!”

“Hen, I think you going into that gunge is going to be a pretty great thing,” grinned Daisy.

“But I only wanted to help people improve, I… I just tried to bring out the best in you all by putting you under pressure, that’s all.”

“We just want you to improve too,” said Daisy.

“But I’m already perfect!!! I can’t be improved!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Mike. “It seems to me like your attitude could definitely use some work.”

“And it sure seems to me like you’d look a whole lot better with a thick, thick coating of slime!” said Daisy.

Chrissie was quite certain she wouldn’t, but before she could say anything else, Mike and Daisy pulled the lever. Chrissie’s eyes looked out onto the stage at all the people who she’d humiliated over the years, and then her chair shot down the ramp. She still looked queenly, albeit a rather horrified and most definitely plummeting queen, who shrieked as a heavy dosing of purple slime dropped from the ceiling in front of her just in time for her to shoot through the goo. Although she was only underneath the stream for a moment, a great deal of the gunge plainly meant to come down along with her. The purple shower completely destroyed her sexily tousled hair, a look that was supposed to be built to last her all day, but couldn’t endure mere seconds against the onslaught of the gunge. Her shimmering silver dress, once fit for an ice queen, was now mostly fit only for the bin. The freezing cold slop struck her bare neck and shoulders and clung to the dress as if she’d just shot through a slimy, sticky spiders web. She’d also been forced to eat what she’d thought was a faceful of gunge.

It hadn’t even been close. At the bottom of the ramp, she found out what a faceful of gunge was. The queen’s throne betrayed her, and with as little mercy as she’d shown her victims over the years, dunked her into the gunge horizontally. She fell right into the wolf’s maw, and it devoured her into it’s hungry belly. She flopped under the red gunge that swam at the centre of the pool, and for a few moments, that was the last that anyone saw of Chrissie Williams. She was completely submerged and left completely helpless and disoriented. Her body was entirely drenched, the worst smelling gunge she had ever dreamed of smothering her face. Gunge didn’t have to smell bad at all, but of course she’d always insisted on it to make sure the show got the best reactions possible. This was a decision that had very much just come back to haunt her. The malodorous gunge rippled outwards as it scoffed the villainous hostess, culminating in waves of goo that sloshed over the side of the vat. The entire crowd were on their feet, hooting and hollering at finally getting to see her downfall after all this time. She could feel her dress billowing out beneath her, giving the slime an invitation – not that it needed any- to taste her charms. Finally, Chrissie’s head poked out from under the slime, her hands following quickly behind as she placed them over her face and pulled at the slime as if it were a mask that she could somehow hope to just slip off. On top, gunge flowed from her formerly tousled, now merely sodden hair back down her body in such volumes that at first she thought they’d sent another stream down on her already.

Disguuuuuusting!

“Urrrgh, urrrrgh, urrrrgh, BWAAAAAAAARGHH!”

“What a shame!” laughed Daisy. “Well, we certainly aren’t going to lose track of you at the after party tonight! Everyone’ll be able to sniff you out right away.”

“Let me out of here this instant!”

“Don’t worry, Chrissie: we’ll send someone over to fish you out of there sooner or later. Probably. Eventually!”

Nothing in Chrissie’s time as a messy TV presenter prepared her for just how shockingly cold the slime felt as it invaded every part of her body. Her hair had gone from auburn to purple to red in the span of a few moments. From her head downwards, however, she’d been painted yellow.  Deep down at the bottom of all this horrible gloop, she could barely even feel that she had a pair of shoes on at all, so freezing were her poor feet from the slime that lavished against them. Her toes curled up, trying to crawl back from the exposed front of her shoe to whatever scant protection might lie deeper within.

Outrageously extravagant her choice of outfit might have been, but it could offer her no relief from the flood of gunge she was swimming in. The gunge seeped through her panties into her most intimate parts, drenching her vaginal lips and beyond, sending spasms through her body. She simply had to get her body free of this gunk as soon as possible. She had to!

As she managed to plant her feet at the bottom and began to rise up, however, she looked down in horror towards her breasts. Her exposed breasts.

“Oh my god! She’s pure naked!” yelled Daisy.

Chrissie looked at her yellow-dunked – ha! – ‘dress’, which would now never shimmer again. What once had clung to every curve on her body had now left two very large curves completely uncovered. She’d thought she’d worn her dress as low as she possibly could, but apparently the gunge had just upped the ante. In a panic she wrapped her arms around her chest to cover her hardening nipples and sank back down under the gunge until they were hidden. All at once gunge surged in from around her to slosh against her defenceless breasts. It was so icy cold against her nipples she could hardly bear it, but she had no choice. Not for the first time, she was glad this was a taped show. Her malfunction had, however, not been lost on the live crowd, who were now worked up into an absolute frenzy.

It had never supposed to be this way! It was never supposed to be her. The obvious delight of everyone watching cut through her. For four years she’d been a queen. She’d been untouchable. Each and every losing contestant had been hers to deal with as she chose, and she’d loved every minute of it. And now all of that was gone. Today, the power was theirs, and her cruel reign had been ended in the slime she had so long coveted. Even the engineering permavirgins were mocking her relentlessly. Her! Frustration brought her blood to a boil, yet she was completely helpless. Finally, she could endure the humiliation no more. She gave an inhuman scream.

The show stopped.

Chrissie Williams breathed out. She tried to move, and wobbled in what remained of her sodden high heels. Light blue gunge dropped from above and struck her head just as she was trying to regain her balance. The next thing she knew, she toppled over sideways under the gunge. She let it seep over her. When she came back up this time (heaving breasts still carefully concealed beneath, of course) she was laughing. She couldn’t have asked for a better send off. Today had been so much fun! Her many victims were having a hell of a time as well, and they were laughing, clapping, and trying to encourage the crowd to make even more noise. If she’d ever caused any of them any real hurt, she hoped this served as some degree of recompense. Finally, as Daisy thanked her for everything she’d done for the show, and wished her well in what came next, she let the tears she’d fought back earlier fall. She waited for the bitch to offer some snide remark, but none came. The slime seemed to have exorcised her alter-ego for good.

It was only now that she realised, for better or worse, how much she was going to miss all this. She would always look back on her time here and the wonderful friends she had made fondly. For now though, Chrissie Williams was looking towards the future… and to the showers.

Since we’re half-way through I thought I’d give you an update on how the votes are going. I’m also going to add some different pictures of the potential gungees.

Skillet:

Currently Jen is leading with 86 votes to 12, or 88% to 12%.

(Seriously though, who the hell names their band after a frying pan? Well, apart from the members of Skillet, I suppose.)

Eluveitie

Shir-Ran is ahead, with 54 votes to 36, or 60% to 40%.

(I didn’t intentionally put a bunch of Celtic pagans up against a bunch of Christians, though it could make for some interesting dialogue in the actual story!)

Evarose

The current results are:

First place: Dannika (44 votes/53%)
Second place: Robyn (19 votes/23%)
Third place: Connie (11 votes/13%)
Fourth place: Imogen (9 votes/11%)

(Dunno about you, but I prefer Dannika with brown hair)

Da roolz:

Just to reiterate, during the actual show the winner of the Skillet poll will go up against the winner of the Eluveitie poll. Whoever gets the most votes gets dunked in gunge in part 3. The winner of the Evarose poll will get gunged at the conclusion of the Five Hundred Challenge at the end of part 2. Votes are infinite, so if your favourite isn’t winning you could make it happen (even if that favourite is Imogen or Korey!). Then again if your favourite is way ahead, you might want to keep voting for her – don’t get too cocky, Dannika and Jen voters!

Hello, and welcome back to scene 23 of Pancake Day 2. Before introducing the story I’m going to quickly mention something that happened after the upload of the last part. I was having a quick look at the site stats to see how well my story was doing, when I noticed one of my old stories (Paradise by the Fairground Light: Chapter 38 -43) was getting an abnormal amount of hits. I tried typing the name of the story in to google, to see if it was being linked to anywhere, and I got my answer. Turns out there’s a tourism website, that automatically generates relevant links after the article. They had one page dedicated to the Vltava river in Prague, which is also mentioned in the afore mentioned story, so it ended up being one of the automatically generated links. Consequently I got a lot of people clicking through looking for tourist information, and instead getting an erotic story involving bondage and chocolate custard.

Now continuing the subject of custard is the next scene. The origins from this one come from watching shows like The Crystal Maze and Fort Boyard, both of which have had games that involve climbing up and down some sort of structure to win a game. That was the basis, from which I settled on a structure I designed myself, and also worked out how to include a messy element. I’m quite pleased with the dramatic image for a game I came up with in the end.
It’s also notable in a way that’s not immediately obvious. This series has gone from a fun side project to my main focus, so consequently has more to the story in it. This does mean there is more of a link between a lot of the scenes, and from this point onwards all the scenes will link up, and stuff that happens here will have consequences later on.

Scene 23:

The camera fades in to another part of the now familiar cellar. This one seems to be a corner of a much taller room than we‘ve seen previously. On the two main walls wine barrels are stacked high, opposite them are two walls of chain link fence going from the floor to the ceiling, turning the corner of the room into a cage. In the centre of the cage is a large circular pool of pink strawberry custard, about eight foot in diameter, the surface stirs slightly, and a few whips of steam still ride from it. Suspended above the pool is a large structure, made out of cargo nets, made from thick hemp rope. Four tall nets make up the four walls, and contained in them are seven more nets, positioned at a fortyfive degree angle, spaced two foot apart, resulting in seven very cramped floors of the structure, one above the other. The camera zooms in closer to the bottom of the structure, where a girl is lying, slowly stirring as she recovers from the sleep inducing effects of Porcelain’s chlorafoam. She wears a dark purple, knee length petticoat style skirt and a frilly light yellow top. She has milk white skin, and jet black hair styled in a fashionable bob, along with dark eye shadow, long lashes and dark purple lipstick giving her lips a voluptuous look. The camera cuts to the edge of the pool, where standing on a ledge next to a pedestal and hour glass is a familiar face.

Porcelain: Hello Athena. It’s playtime.
Athena: You!
Porcelain: I see my reputation proceeds me.
Athena: Your the reason all these strange things have been happening. Why we were called back to school early. Why people have been disappearing!
Porcelain: Well done!
Athena: Oh no! Are you going to gunge me now.
Porcelain: I see you know how I work. That’s not a surprise. I bet you were really annoyed when my name appeared in all the press, all those magazines and TV shows. You spent so much time saying how one day you were going to be rich and famous, everyone would know your name, then the poor girl you always tormented goes and gets worldwide name recognition, before anyone’s ever heard of you. Perhaps you should have remembered to be nice to people on the way up, as you may meet them again on the way back down. As you can see I’ve prepared a little play session that should prepare you for the ups and downs life throws at you.

The camera cuts to a wide shot as a waterfall like feature suddenly starts at the top of the cargo net structure. Instead of water though it’s raining pink custard that falls down and forms a barrier that cuts across the nets from one side to another.

Porcelain: In a minute I’m going to go, and securely bolt the door behind me. Don’t worry though, I’ve left you with a way out. At the top of these nets there’s a little escape hatch, all you have to do is climb up to it. I should warn you though it will only be open so long before an electronic locks will seal the hatch. I don’t think that little climbing frame we made for you will support your weight that long either.
Athena: Please Porcelain. I didn’t like doing what I did to you.
Porcelain: Ha! Why would you do something like that if you didn’t enjoy it?
Athena: I just wanted to fit in. You know what those other girls were like. If you didn’t fit in they treated you like a freak. I didn’t want to be a nobody.
Porcelain: You become a nobody when you stop being your true self, and let yourself become a pawn of society. Look at me. Nobody ever gave a shit about me when I was Helen Mathews. As Princess Porcelain, I choose who does and doesn’t play with me, and I choose the game. Now move!. Maybe this experience will teach you the importance of standing up for yourself.

Athena gives Porcelain a last pleading look, but it’s obvious she’s wasting her time. She scrambles up the first net as far as the pink custard waterfall. She pauses momentarily, composing herself. The camera cuts to a shot looking at the pink custard waterfall as Athena bursts through it, a bright pink layer of custard now clinging to her hair, face and shoulders. The initial burst sees her get through as fast as her waist. The custard pours on her bottom for a couple of seconds, before she regains her stance and scrambles the rest of the way to the top of the first net. As this happens the camera cuts briefly to Porcelain as she turns the hourglass over, before leaving to bolt the door behind her. The camera cuts back to Athena as she climbs through a hole in the second cargo net, to reach the second floor. She looks up as the camera cuts to show there’s no obvious way up this side of the waterfall. She climbs down the slope of the second floor feet first, once again passing through the custard, slightly slower this time as she’s unable to brace herself for a lunge while descending backwards, resulting in an even thicker coating of custard soaking through her cloths and clinging on to her skin. She looks up and spots a hole leading up to the third floor which she quickly climbs up and through. She takes a deep breath before scrambling up the slope of the third floor as quickly as she can, barely breaking stride this time as she passes under the pink custard waterfall for a third time. A thick layer drips down from all parts of her body as she climbs through the next hole on to the fourth hole. This time instead of climbing downwards she positions herself sideways and tumbles downwards at speed. The camera cuts up to a shot of the waterfall as Athena rolls through it uncontrollably, resulting in a large amount of pink custard pouring onto her face.
The camera cuts to the hourglass, about half of her time has gone, before cutting back to Athena as she wipes her eyes, her breath noticeably deeper from the physical excursion. With a gasp of exasperation she climbs through up to the fifth floor. As she climbs this time she’s notably slower, as she passes through the pink custard waterfall the custard has time to form a thick coating over different parts of her body, before dripping down, leaving a thinner layer glistening over her. She climbs up to the penultimate sixth floor, and pretty much falls down the slope, she’s so exhausted. As she hits the bottom of the slope the camera cuts to the hourglass, less than ten percent of her time is left. The camera cuts back to Athena as she lets out a loud scream, digs deep, and finds one last burst of speed as scrambles up the last floor.
The camera cuts to a shot looking through the escape hatch. It’s a barred metal door, with an electronic lock, currently with a green light. Through the door we see Athena bursting through the pink custard waterfall one last time. Using up every last reserve of energy she has she lunges towards the door. She is merely inches from it when a loud buzz is heard, and the green light changes to red. She lets out a cry of anguish as she grabs onto the chain link fence the hatch is positioned on, desperately bashing on the door, but to no avail.
The camera cuts to a wide shot of the whole cargo net structure. Suddenly the ropes holding the four corners of the structure pull back. The structure is stretched as tight as it can go, before tearing apart at the corners, causing it to fracture into pieces and drop downwards. The camera cuts to a shot looking down at the custard as parts of what used to be the structure slowly sink in, then cuts down to a shot of Athena, still holding onto the fence, as she realises she may not have escaped with her freedom, but she avoided the worst of the mess.

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By the same Author
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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.

It’s been a little while since I’ve contributed any new stories, but I’ve got something new here…
A bit of background, this has been lurking around my hard drive for a number of years, and I never knew how it’d be received. Now I guess the best thing I can do is put it out there and see what people think – I’d always thought it might be the best fit for right here – on Tellygunge (thumbs up)

This story is going to maybe be lighter on the mess than my previous stories, WAM is involved but as one of several themes, rather than a central one. Part 1 contains gunge, and the things people will do to avoid it, and the future parts will include male and female WAM, savoury and sweet mess, humiliation and romance. I guess I’d call it more like a Mills and Boon with some mess, so be warned :-)

This story contains adult situations and content.
Halstow Ladies – Part 1

The sharp shriek of the referee’s whistle cut through the air of the sports hall as the assembled crowd cheered. The Halstow University ladies 5-a-side football team had just won their semi-final match against York 4-3, and were going on to the BUSA finals! The members of the Halstow team all ran into the centre of the hall and hugged each other – Sharon, Ruth, Wendy, the goalie Linda, and finally the captain Jo all embraced one another and bounced up and down excitedly laughing.

Looking to the assembled crowd – they shared this euphoric moment along with their supporters; the girls bathing in the adoration of the cheering students from their university. The quarter finals was the furthest the Halstow team had ever gotten in the tournament until this year, so for them to get to the semi-finals was brilliant on its own, yet the fans of the team had not even dared think they could go all the way to the finals. The wild and exuberant cheers of the crowd gave the five girls a final adrenaline rush as they punched the air – the cheers going someway to replenish the energy they’d lost over the past hour of exertion.

After taking a few more moments to bathe in the adoration of the crowd, they walked back to the changing rooms with their heads held high, proud of what they’d achieved – Sharon first, who was skinny and of an athletic build with her blond hair tied back in a ponytail; while behind her followed Ruth and Wendy who were Scottish twin sisters, both redheaded, Ruth with her hair tied back and Wendy with hers in plaits. Linda was of medium height with wavy brown hair, and Jo was the tallest by some margin, well over six foot with a voluptuous figure, blonde hair, blue eyes and an ample chest as well as long athletic legs.

The five girls entered the changing rooms and stripped off their green kits to have a well-deserved shower. Linda was singing softly to herself as she shed her clothes and wrapped a towel round herself “We are the champions” she sang to herself “we are the champions, no time for losers ‘cos we are the champions”. Passing the threshold of the communal showers she hung her towel on the hook and stepped inside. Standing under the shower head, and turning the taps with a small creak, she let out a small sigh of relief as the warm water gently splashed over her bare flesh and soothed her aching muscles.  Sharon, Ruth and Wendy were also already in the showers and washing themselves, so the four girls chatted while they scrubbed up.

“That was a great goal you scored there Ruth” said Linda, as she washed her soft brown hair.

“Thanks hun” smiled Ruth “I just hoped tae send the keeper the rang way”

Linda then looked over at Ruth’s twin sister Wendy and said “And that shot you blasted in from just outside the box was breathtaking to watch”

Wendy smiled back, remembering how the keeper had been caught full stretch but had not quite got her fingertips up to the ball to stop it from going in “Yeah” Wendy replied “I was so glad their keeper jus’ wasnae quite good enough tae reach it”.

“Speaking of goalkeepers not being good enough – our goalkeeper was fucking useless” cut in Jo sharply as she entered the showers. Jo stood in front of Linda and stared daggers at her. Jo had, as captain, always ruled with an iron fist more suited to the military than a sports team. Sharon, Ruth and Wendy had always been intimidated by Jo, and so at their captain entering in a foul temper, they turned to face the wall and tried to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible.

Linda looked at the floor while Jo continued to bore a hole through her with her eyes. Linda was hurt by the captain’s cutting words, all she could think was “Who the hell is she to talk to me like that?”– she felt she’d given a very good performance, she admitted she’d had better form in the previous game, but she’d still not given a scrap less than 100%. Linda composed herself, and with what she hoped was an air of dignity, looked at Jo and replied “Well, all I did was try my best. We won, didn’t we?”

Jo snapped back “No thanks to you though, I think a cripple could have played better than you did today, half the shots you let in”

Linda could look at Jo with that menacing sneer on her face, and internally, her resistance crumbled. She could only look back down at the floor, fuming. Trying to blink back tears, she said “Well, I’ll try harder next time”

Jo said “You’d better – I’m not having you lose the final for us, sort it out!”

Linda finished washing herself down in silence, picked up her towel with a sigh, and went back to get dressed. As she wiped away the small tears in her eyes with the towel, she mused on why the hell the other three never stuck up for her. “In fact,” she thought, “I know full bloody well why they don’t – they’re terrified of Jo, they just follow her around and do whatever Jo does, just trying to keep her happy. They’re such sheep! They’re worried if they piss her off they’ll get kicked off the team. Sometimes they seem to have so little personality of their own I wonder why they’re even in the team at all” Linda sighed, finished dressing herself and left the changing room.

Linda could sympathise with the other three somewhat – unfortunately for the four other members, Jo had quite a lot of sway with the sports council, there was an urban legend that anyone on any sports team that got in Jo’s way, would find themselves off the team and blackballed from any other team at the university too. Apparently, all Jo had to do was have a word in the ear with the head of sports development, and it would be done, as would be their sports career. Linda couldn’t lie – she was intimidated by Jo – to be honest it was tough not to be intimidated by this supremely confident girl. And she has every reason to be confident, doesn’t she, thought Linda bitterly – over six foot tall, with looks that could turn any man’s head, a body most girls would kill for and captain of a sports team. Linda’s personal pride would not allow her to be trodden all over by this power-mongering bitch, yet at the same time; she loved playing football, and wanted to keep her spot on the team. Getting on the wrong side of Jo would have meant putting her spot on the team in danger. She’d had this conversation with herself every damn time Jo had been a bitch! And every time, the internal monologue gave the same outcome – I love to play football, I’m not going to give that up.

Linda thought back to her tryout for the team, the previous goalie had been ejected from the team in mysterious circumstances but the scuttlebutt was that she’d been badmouthing Jo behind her back. No-one had been able to check with the former keeper as she suddenly and without any explanation other than “I’m leaving”, quit the uni and was never heard from again. Linda had seemed to impress the other three during the tryouts, but Jo had seemed unsure. Nevertheless, she had a call from Jo the following day saying she was in, and that was that. She’d bonded well with the other three, but there had always seemed to be that invisible forcefield Jo projected keeping the others out. Walking home, she tried to put Jo out of her mind and turn her thoughts towards the next game.

***

The day after the big game Geoff; the president of the Student’s Union, sent an email message to the girls from the team asking them to come to his office, as he had something important he wanted to tell them. The girls all met up at the office at the appointed time, and Geoff invited them in, and sat them down, allowing them to wonder what the announcement might be. He thanked them for coming along as well as congratulating them on their progress in this, their break-through season. Geoff told them there was an incredible interest in the big final and they were likely to draw in a much bigger than usual crowd. As this was going to be the case, they wanted to use the opportunity to also try and raise some money for RAG.

At this point there was a knock at the door, and Geoff said to the girls “Right on cue, to explain”, as he called “Come on in, Danny”.

The door opened and in walked Danny, the president of the union’s RAG committee. Geoff continued “Danny, why don’t you tell the girls what we’d been talking about”.

Danny paused for a moment – and the five girls appraised him impatiently, waiting for him to deliver the news. He was of average height, with brown eyes and mid-length black hair always center-parted. He wore baggy blue jeans and a pale T-shirt. He had something of a reputation as a bit of a geek around the campus, he never really got that much attention from the girls, so he enjoyed having these five girls hanging on his every word.

He looked at them, and let them build the anticipation for a few moments, before he said “Geoff and I had been batting a few ideas around, and I came up with the idea… if Halstow wins the final, which Geoff has assured me is a very strong possibility…” the girls all smiled at the compliment, as Danny continued “…and as well as winning, we raise more than £10,000 for RAG on the day, we decided… one of you ladies will be getting gunged after the game”

The girls all looked at each other – looking less than thrilled by this prospect. Internally, all five of them were thinking pretty much the same thing “Urgh, getting covered in horrible slimy stuff, yuk!”

Jo opened her mouth to say something before Geoff cut in saying “So it’s settled then” clapping his hands he added “Think of the publicity, it’ll be brilliant!”

Danny just smiled. Jo once again attempted to say something before Geoff cut in again, “We’ll give you more details on what’s involved nearer the time”.

Walking to the door, Geoff opened it for them, and indicating they should leave, said “Sorry, but if you don’t mind, I’ve got a meeting with an SU representative in 5 minutes”.

The girls could only stand up, a little confused at having this news foisted upon them, and walked out of the office. No sooner had they left the union building than Jo was already protesting “Gunged! No way! No way will I let that happen to me, I’ll be laughed right out of the uni, a girl of my social standing could not go through the humiliation of that kind of crap”.

Ruth agreed “Not a chance”.

Linda just kept her mouth shut; she’d already learnt to not even bother trying to argue with Jo when she had her mind made up about something. Linda split off to walk home while the other four girls headed off in another direction, calling “See you girls later”. Linda stopped, expecting a response, but when the other four just ignored her and carried on walking, Linda let out a small grunt of frustration at how she was treated – while she watched Jo walk off into the distance, until her protestations to the other three were out of earshot. Linda turned and starting walking back towards her house.

En-route, Linda continued thinking about Geoff’s bombshell, and the thought struck her “Yes, well, it’ll be pretty disgusting, but it is for charity, and if they can raise £10,000, that’s a pretty amazing target. If they get to that on the premise that one of us will get gunged if they do raise that much, maybe it’s a small price to pay to get a bit of goo out of my hair”. While walking back to her house she also thought about Danny, who’d delivered the news to them – despite his reputation as a bit of a geek she’d always kind of admired his brains, and thought he was pretty attractive in a geek-chic kind of way. She’d not been able to stop staring at him, checking him out while he spoke to the five of them in that office. Maybe one day she’d get around to asking him out for a coffee or something, it just seemed so hard with all this fundraising he was doing… As she reached the house, Linda fumbled with her keys and opened the front door, going inside, thinking “Oooh, right on time for Pointless”

***

Thumping dance music pounded while students in their best clubbing gear gyrated and wiggled on the dance floor, laughing, flirting, drinking, dancing. There were still 2 weeks to go until the big final, and halfway through this first week Jo was out at the union with her “coven” as the other sports teams referred to it, of Ruth, Sharon and Wendy.

Jo was at the bar throwing double vodkas down her throat, feeling pretty drunk when who should she spy along the bar, but Danny, ordering a drink. Seeing him suddenly brought back the memory of that afternoon in Geoff’s office, and she thought again about Danny proposing the idea of getting one of the five girls gunged and shuddered at the thought. Then, an idea sparked in her head – looking at Danny, maybe, just maybe, she could convince him to rig things in her favour. And she knew exactly how to do it too – she’d always managed to get what she wanted out of guys just with a look here, a shake of the right parts of her body there. Maybe a few uses of her feminine charms could swing things – and who’d ever know if she stacked the deck in her favour somewhat?

She rushed off to the toilets to quickly check her makeup, adjust her black corset-style top to squeeze her breasts together to give her maximum cleavage, and then walked back out ready to bowl this nerd right over. She spied Danny just about to pick up his drink and walk away from the bar, and so bustled over, and taking his arm, she said into his ear “Hello there Danny, how are you doing?”

“Um, not bad thanks” he replied, surprised at this gorgeous girl suddenly paying him all this attention; as Jo steered him into a booth at the edge of the club and sat him down in it, as she put her arm round his shoulders and sat on his lap.

She made a point of pushing her chest out so she was pushing her cleavage up into his face. “So, lovely boy – let’s have a talk about this… thing you organised for the day of the final”

“Right…?” Said Danny, who, still taken aback by Jo’s sudden come-on to him, and presented with Jo’s cleavage inches from his face, was now trying desperately not to stare at her round breasts as they fought to spill over the top of her corset top.

Putting on her best “sweet” voice, Jo continued “Well, I just can’t be gunged, it just wouldn’t happen – so how about you just… alter whatever it was you were planning, to ensure that I’m not the one that gets it”.

Danny, with a bit of a beer buzz going on himself, could only stare for a moment at Jo’s chest, as it rose and fell hypnotically, imprisoned within the top as she breathed in and out. Danny swallowed hard, and dragging his eyes from Jo’s bosoms up to her eyes – said “No, I can’t do that, it wouldn’t be fair”. Danny had also been fighting a very urgent stirring in his trousers, and breathed for a second.

Jo gave him a sultry look that could have made butter sizzle and melt, before wrapping both her arms round his neck, pulling his face a bit closer to her tits and going in for the kill in her best “seductive” voice, saying ”Aw really? Are you sure?” He quickly realised if Jo stayed there sitting on his lap, and with the amount of titillation she was giving him, she’d soon be able to feel his rapidly stiffening erection poking up, and he just couldn’t face that happening.

As such, he broke from his testosterone-induced trance, rapidly grabbed her firmly yet gently by the waist and lifted her to her feet. “I’d better go and find the other guys” he blurted out, before moving away at speed.

Jo opened her mouth to say something, but Danny had already dashed away, holding his pint, before she realised he wouldn’t be able to hear her over the music anyway. So she rolled her eyes and sighed “Why the fuck is he running off to his little geek friends anyway? Didn’t he want a little bit of this” she thought, as she looked at herself, holding her arms out and shaking her shoulders to watch her chest jiggle

Danny, meanwhile, had disappeared to the opposite side of the dance floor. Despite saying so, he had no real intention of going back to his mates just yet – he wanted a few minutes to compose himself. He’d always found Jo absolutely drop-dead gorgeous, with her long legs, big boobs, striking ice-blue eyes and blonde hair. That close encounter had shaken him up, in a good way. He had to admit, being tempted by a girl like Jo put him in a difficult position, torn between two options. His libido stood at the end of one pathway, tongue lolling, straining under pressure and screaming “Do whatever she says! ANYTHING!”, but at the end of the other path was his conscience, calmer, more composed, beckoning him forward, saying “Have some dignity! It’s for charity, how could you possibly think of cheating it?”

***

“Ooof!” grunted Linda as she leapt to the right hand edge of the goal, caught the ball, and landed on the ground. It was the Saturday one week to the day before the big final, and the girls were getting in some hard training. Linda had been working hard on improving, she wanted to show Jo that she could be the best goalie that had ever played for Halstow. The girls had been practicising penalties for fifteen minutes, and as they took a moment to grab a drink and sip some water.

Jo suddenly said “I’ve gotta go”

“What?!” exclaimed Linda “There’s still fifteen minutes worth of training left”.

“Yes, but I’m the captain, and so I’m telling you four to carry on, I need to go”. Jo then bustled out in a hurry, leaving the other four wondering why she felt she could leave – surely they should train as a team!

Jo hurried outside to the waiting black BMW, checking no-one had seen her, she jumped in, and as it sped off, she said to the driver “Right, so how much were you willing to offer…?”

***

All too soon, after weeks of preparation, the day of the game arrived, and the main hall of the Halstow university sports hall was packed. The assembled crowd all chatted excitedly while they waited for the game to begin. Geoff put a start to the proceedings, walking to the centre of the pitch  holding a microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to Halstow University!” said Geoff – “Let’s get things under way, without further ado – introducing first the away team, Durham University!”

The five girls in the light blue of their Durham strips jogged out from the changing area into the hall, while the Durham fans cheered and the Halstow fans clapped politely. As the five opponents of the home team stretched and warmed up, Geoff continued “…and it is my very great pleasure to now introduce to you – your very own… Halstowwwww Ladies!” A deafening cheer went up from the excited crowd, far exceeding the reception Durham had received. The five girls ran out of the changing area to greet their adoring public, clapping above their heads and pumping their fists to psyche themselves up, feeding off the energy the crowd were providing them with.

After a five minute allowance to warm themselves up, the referee blew his whistle to call the girls to start the game. The crowd buzz intensified a notch as Jo won the toss and Halstow kicked off. The game swung into action – for the first twenty minutes it was pretty even going – with the ball being slammed from one end of the pitch to the other and back again, both teams chasing hard, not giving an inch. Linda was tested by one shot, but was able to parry it away with her hands before the Ruth picked it up and counterattacked. After half an hour, the whistle for halftime blew, the score tied at 0-0.

In the final two minutes, a cross was kicked into the Halstow area, and Jo jumps high, going up to header it. Linda saw this early, and expected her to head it away into clear space. However, Linda suddenly realised to her horror that Jo had headed it back towards her own goal. Scrambling to shift her balance towards the ball flying towards the goal, Linda desperately watched the ball – it was coming towards the goal fast and looked to be out of her reach. Time seemed to slow down as Linda leant towards the ball, and pushing hard off the ground, flung herself through the air in an attempt to stop it. Jo watched the ball with anxiety, as Linda continued to dive, and as she reached the apex of her jump, somehow she found her palms waiting so accept the missile heading into the goal. Stopping the ball dead, she clasped it in both hands, pulling it protectively down to her stomach as she hit the ground and smothered it with her body, preventing any of the other players from getting at it. She’d made the save! Not just any save, the save of her life as well! As she stood up, she noticed the Durham players had come right forward in an attempt to win the game, leaving no-one standing in their half, and they were frantically retreating.

Moving quickly – Linda tried to capitalise on this, booting the ball upfield – the opposition goalie was the furthest back, now running backwards with her eyes in the air watching the ball, she’d seen it coming, but too late, she scrambled backwards, but as the ball dropped out of the air, the opposition keeper slipped over, and could only watch helplessly as the ball bounced and went into the opposition net.  The crowd exploded, in a frenzy, at such a dramatic five minutes, culminating in the home team scoring a goal to take them into the lead with only two minutes to go! Durham fought back hard, but Halstow valiantly defended their lead, and soon, the fight was over.

As the final whistle went, the team all hugged one another. As the cup was awarded to Halstow, Geoff got onto the mic and made an announcement over the tannoy that £11,562 had been raised, and so this meant that one of the championship-winning five a side team was going to get gunged. At his cue, Danny rolled out and unveiled a large gunge tank placed in the centre of the hall. The shower cubicle-like design certainly looked imposing now the girls could see it up close, a small stool inside and a large rectangular chamber of neon pink gunge hanging ominously above, ready to disperse its contents over one of the girls. Inside was a panel with 10 numbered buttons. Danny took the mic and explained that within there were 10 buttons, only one of which would release the gunge. The girls would take it in turns to sit in the tank and press a button – until the gunge was released – a Russian Roulette style of gunging to add to the tension.

The girls all piled into the shower to clean up, the gunging looming large in their immediate future. Jo soaped herself up, cursing herself for not scoring that own goal. “Oh, so now Linda suddenly becomes superstar keeper?” she thought, seething. Her arrangement with the Durham representative in the black BMW had led to her taking a bribe to throw the game. Not only would she now not get the money, her mind was still intently focussed on the fact that she could not allow herself to be gunged. Her reputation would be ruined – the jokes would go on for months.

The five girls walked out of the showers to find their outfits laid out – five skimpy green bikinis, brief bikini bottoms with a halterneck-style top. The girls groaned as they saw the outfits they were going to have to wear, not at all happy about the somewhat forced sex appeal they were going to be exuding in these revealing outfits. The girls had also been provided with a plain white bathrobe to wear, to cover themselves up until the relevant moment so they could “strip” down to their bikinis – seemed a bit pointless to them that not only had a shower when one of them was about to get covered in goo, but also that they’d cover themselves up when they were going to be seen in only a bikini in front of hundreds of people, but the bathrobes were cosy and warm, so the girls put them on.

After putting the bikini bottoms on, and tying the halterneck top cords in a bow behind her neck, Jo was starting to get desperate. She couldn’t allow this to happen, especially not in this revealing outfit, she simply had to tip the odds in her favour somehow. Slipping on the bathrobe and stepping out of the changing rooms, she saw Danny walk past her, so she quickly composed herself and trotted in step alongside him.

“So Danny” she smiled, turning on the charm “How about you tell me which button is rigged to release the gunge, I’ll make it worth your while”. Turning him so his back was to the wall, and slamming him hard against the wall, pressing her barely-clothes body up against his – she moved her face close to his and started running her finger up and down his face.

Danny looked momentarily flustered, but then smiled and said “No way Jo, we’re going to do this fairly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need the loo” Danny gently moved her hand aside and walked over to the gents.

Jo cursed herself, this was the final straw. She had only one more trick up her sleeve, which she’d saved for times of real desperation. Realising this was that time, she thought, well, if this doesn’t work, nothing else will. She quickly shadowed him into the gents, and as he turned and realised Jo was there – he went to say something but before he could she put her finger to his lips and pushed him into the nearest cubicle. Closing and bolting the door behind her, she moved quickly, undoing the bathrobe and dropping it to the floor, revealing her body in the bikini.

Danny’s eyes went wider at the sight of this beautiful girl in only skimpy swimwear in front of him. Without a word, she dropped to her knees, and unbuckling the belt on his jeans. Danny’s eyes opened wide, and he said “Jo, wha…” as she dropped the jeans and immediately pulled down his boxers.

Still without a word, she grabbed his rapidly hardening erection and wrapped her hands around it, stroking him to full hardness. Danny leant back and closed his eyes, breathing more heavily as Jo tended to his manhood. She then wrapped her ruby lips around it. “HOLY SHIT!” he exclaimed as his manhood disappeared into her warm, moist mouth.

She began to bob her head back and forth as she gave him a blowjob in the middle of the gents toilets, pausing to lick and suck his swollen head every now and again. He moaned and steadied himself against the cubicle walls. Lost in pleasure, enjoying this gorgeous bikini-clad girl performing fellatio on him, he gently ran his hands through her freshly washed silky blonde hair. Gripped by a surge of lust, he then ran his hands down, over her face, down her neck, down her shoulders and round the back of her neck to the bow securing the bikini top in place.

With a swift tug, he undid the bow, causing the top to fall off, and began to stroke her bare boobs. She secretly rolled her eyes as he began to fondle her heavy breasts. “The things I do to stay on top” she thought as she continued to fellate him. After a few minutes of this wonderful oral sex, Danny was getting very close to climax. Jo could sense this, and as he continued to build. She suddenly stopped and pulled his penis out of her mouth.

Danny said “What are you doing?!”

Jo said “Tell me which button is rigged to release the gunge”.

“What?!” said Danny, squirming, aching for release.

Squeezing his balls, Jo said more insistently “Tell me, which number releases the gunge!”

Danny couldn’t stop himself “Number 4 – just don’t stop!”.

Jo smiled as she took his cock back into her mouth. She tickled his scrotum as he gasped and finally exploded into her mouth, flooding it with his sticky seed. She swallowed it all down, sucked his penis clean, licking her lips. She then stood up – and without a word, pulled her top back up, opened the cubicle door, and walked out with a sexy bum wiggle, just calling “Thanks babe, see you out there” as she left.

Danny took a moment to compose himself, what the hell had just happened there? This beautiful blonde dream girl of his had, out of nowhere dropped to her knees and sucked him off! This was the stuff fantasies were made of! He was jerked back to reality by the realisation he was standing there with the cubicle door open and his boxers still around his ankles, so quickly bent down to pull everything back up. Looking around, slightly embarrassed, he ran out of the changing rooms and prepared to conduct the gunging itself.

“Ladies, and gentlemen!” called Geoff, with Danny alongside him as the crowd cheered “The moment you’ve been waiting for – as we raised well clear of the £10,000 target required, we’re now going to gunge one of our new champions!” The crowd cheered louder at the mention of the winning team. Geoff indicated the door, and called “Ladies, please come and join us”.

The five girls entered, wearing their bathrobes pulled tight to cover up as much as possible, walking barefoot across the hall as the crowd cheered.

Lining them up facing the audience, Danny smiled, and addressed the five girls “And now, if you could show everyone what you’re going to be wearing for this little game”

The girls rolled their eyes, and looked at one another. After a moment’s hesitation, they nodded at one another, and with varying degrees of enthusiasm, removed their bathrobes to reveal the bikinis beneath. The crowd cheered, particularly the males present, and wolf-whistles rang out at the girls dressed so provocatively.

Danny invited the girls to line up alongside the tank, and girls did, jostling for position to sort out the order in which they’d go. Jo walked straight to the back of the line and made sure she stayed there; the look in her eyes told the other four to not even try and argue with that decision. The remaining four jostled amongst themselves, and settled out so Sharon was at the front, followed by Linda, Wendy, Ruth, and of course Jo last.

Danny then began the game. At the front of the queue, the first girl to sit herself in the tank was Sharon. She glanced nervously up at the enormous tank full of pink gunge above her, and then fixed her attention on the panel of buttons on her left. All ten were lit up, so she had the best chance of all of picking a safe one.

“Well”, she thought “I’m superstitious, and it’s supposed to be lucky, so…” and pressed number seven. Sharon froze, and after a couple of seconds, when nothing had happened, breathed a sigh of relief. She stood up again as the crowd cheered – leaving the tank she rejoined the back of the line of girls.

Next in line was Linda – she opened the door, sat herself on the stool, and looked at the panel of buttons. Numbers 1-6 and 8-10 were still lit, so she deliberated for a moment while she thought about what number to pick. Then a thought struck her, she was the goalkeeper, what number did the goalie usually wear on a football pitch? Linda pressed button number one. The light went out as she pressed it, and she glanced around for a second to see if anything was going to happen, but once it had been found safe, she stood up and exited while once again the crowd cheered her correct choice.

Next up was Wendy, who extremely gingerly sat herself in the tank. She was really nervous about the prospect of that slime coming down over her head – it looked cold and really incredibly unpleasant – especially as Wendy felt quite exposed dressed only in her bikini in the sports hall, in front of a couple of hundred other students. The crowd hushed as she looked to the panel, seeing 2-6 and 8-10 still lit. Having no inkling what to choose, her eyes roamed over the still lit buttons, before they finally settled on number eight. She pressed the button. No sooner had she pressed it than piercing klaxons rang out, and Wendy quickly ducked her head and cowered, expecting any second to feel torrents of thick sloppy slime engulfing her. After a second of the klaxons though, she felt a light smattering of something landing on her, like snow. She slowly raised her head, and looked down at herself, seeing red glitter had fallen from above her and given her a light dusting. Wendy glared at Danny, her heart had been set racing by those klaxons, and she didn’t appreciate being “had” like that. Danny picked up the microphone and said “Well, we did add a couple of extra little surprises in there for you as well, just to make it that bit more fun for everyone”.

Wendy’s twin sister Ruth next sat herself in the tank, playing up to the audience – she, unlike her twin sister was a lot more of an extrovert, and wasn’t nervous at all about showing off her body in the bikini. She also thought the idea of being gunged would be hilarious, and so wouldn’t mind at all if she did end up being the one left dripping in goo. Biting her finger seductively, playing up to the audience the action of “considering” which button to press, she decided mentally – “my dress size, a perfect…” and pressed number 10. Silence. Nothing. Looking slightly disappointed, with a small pout, Wendy stood, exited the tank and walked to the back of the line.

Next up was Jo – who, looking less than pleased, sat in the tank on the stool. She critically inspected the panel of buttons in front of her, seeing 2-6 and 9 still available. She suddenly began to have doubts about whether the information Danny had given her was true. She hesitated, locked in this quandary, unsure whether to believe what he’d told her. It could still be true – no-one’s pressed four yet, she thought… or is that just a coincidence…? She stared hard at the panel, willing it to give her some clue as to what to press.

After a long wait and a silence while the audience waited for her to make a decision – Danny said “Come on Jo – choose a button” and Jo leant out and pressed number 6.

Klaxons rang out, and Jo shrieked “Noooooo!”, ducking her head. Again, a rain of glitter, blue this time, fell gently over her. Standing up and staring daggers at Danny, she joined the back of the queue while the crowd laughed at her reaction “She thought she was gonna get gunged, did you see the look on her face?”

So five buttons had been pressed, five remained. Danny made a comment to the audience saying just this, that now the girls would go continue for a second go each, until the gunge was released. Danny invited Sharon to place herself back on the stool under the tank of brightly coloured slop.

Sharon sat herself in the tank for the second time, and studying the remaining buttons, decided to press 9. It was safe. Linda chose number 5, which was also safe. This left 2, 3 and 4.

Danny said to Wendy and the assembled crowd – “only three buttons left now, so choose wisely”. Wendy sat nervously in the tank, feeling extremely exposed, she didn’t want to have to choose, all these people staring at her, and if she chose wrong, the humiliation! Getting that vile muck all over her while the crowd laughed at her! The tension was almost too much, she was shaking slightly. Lifting her lightly shaking hand, Wendy slowly pressed number 3. Silence. Wendy broke into a big grin of relief, and jumped for joy as she stood up and walked out of the way – she was safe!

However, now Jo was feeling extremely nervous. There were only two buttons left, and Ruth was next in line to choose. Jo realised that now the situation was completely out of her hands – she always had to be in control but now she was completely, utterly helpless – she had no control over her own fate. Ruth would choose a button, it was a simple 50/50 choice, if she picked correctly, then Jo would have to go like the condemned to the tank to press the only remaining available button and release the gunge over her curvy bikini-clad body. Jo cursed herself for allowing herself to be put in this position where she had no control, and could only will Ruth to make a wrong decision. Jo mentally screamed at Ruth “Get gunged! Press the wrong button”, while she looked on anxiously. Ruth once again made a big show of weighing up which button to press, circling her index finger as she moved it slowly towards the panel. Jo couldn’t watch, she stared at the ground as Ruth made her choice.

A pink plume of smooth gunge fell from the tank above Ruth’s head, and Ruth let out a little squeal as the cold gunge slapped against her hair, and fanned out – spraying the Perspex walls of the tank. As the flow continued, it quickly slipped over her hair, running down her face and down the back of her neck, where it reached the bare skin covered only by a minimal bikini. Ruth let out a little shriek in surprise and shock at the temperature of the slime, but was soon giggling incessantly at how silly this felt – gunge running all over her face, down her chest, over her flat tummy and pooling up between her legs, before continuing it’s journey down her bare legs. It was getting everywhere, outside and inside her sodden bikini, and her nipples stiffened with the cold. The gunge continued to flow for a good 15 seconds while Ruth continued to giggle, running her hands through her completely messed-up hair and clearing her eyes. By the end of it she was buried ankle-deep in thick lurid pink gunge, which she gently kicked her feet around in, enjoying the slimy sensation squishing between her toes.

Danny walked to the front of the tank, and poking the microphone inside, asked Ruth “So Ruth, pink definitely seems to be your colour – how do you feel?” “Gunged!” was Ruth’s only initial answer, and the audience laughed at her response “Very gooey, a little bit cold, but good, actually” she continued, giving her chest a wipe to clear some of the mess away before trying to flick some of the accumulated goop at Danny, who dodged quickly out of the way. “So Ruth, you chose number four, and there was only one more button to press – could you just press it for us?” Ruth leant over and pressed button 3, the only one remaining, and a soft shower of red glitter fell on her, sticking to the gunge accumulated over her body.

Danny and Geoff thanked the crowd for coming along, and for raising such an amazing amount of money, before wishing them a safe journey home and leading Ruth back to the showers to clean herself up. The other girls also went with her so they could change out of their bikinis, holding Ruth’s hands to make sure she didn’t slip over. Jo mentally thanked whatever god of fortune had been watching over her, and she realised she’d glad she didn’t ignore what Danny had told her – he had been telling the truth, number four had ultimately released the gunge.

Coming in part 2 – a case of mistaken identity leads to messy consequences for someone when Jo shows just how cruel she can be…

Sian swishes onto the stage, basking in the applause of the packed audience.

Sian: Whew! Thank you! Thank you everyone and welcome to Comeuppance, the show where the public get their say and the guilty are made to pay! I’m Sian Welby, and it’s my pleasure to serve up yet another helping of just desserts.

The audience cheer as Sian positions herself at the front of the stage with the Mucky Dip behind her.

Sian: A couple of people have asked me how and why contestants come on the show. The how is easy to answer: we approach people and invite them to take part. Sometimes our researchers visit a workplace and look for suitable candidates; other times we receive a nomination from family and so-called friends. But as for the why… your guess is as good as ours. All of our contestants sign up voluntarily, knowing they have little to gain and lots to lose. There’s no five-figure cash bounty on Comeuppance, no exotic holiday, no shiny new car – [chuckles] none of this lot deserve anything like that! No prize to speak of except the Jammy Dodger trophy. Our contestants receive no payment except reimbursement for travel and – [grins wickedly] if they’re unlucky – cleaning!

The audience laughs.

Sian: Of course, some people decline our invitation, but we’re astonished at just how many are willing to try their luck against the muck. It’s an enduring mystery what motivates them.

Casually strolling around the Mucky Dip, Sian arrives at the area where the cages will shortly be parked.

Sian: Tonight’s three contestants, however, all have a tangible motivation for signing up: self-promotion. It’s not easy being on the first rung of the ladder to stardom, and exposure is everything. Even if it means exposure to abject humiliation. So let’s meet our fame-hungry hopefuls!

The fashion vlogger
Our first contestant is Princess Priscilla, 18 years old from Derry. She’s run a fashion and makeup vlog since age 14, and has amassed 50,000 subscribers.

The pair of guards wheel on a cage containing the Princess while the audience boos.

Unfazed by the booing, Priscilla blows several kisses to the audience and then adopts one pose after another, staring suavely into the camera.

Sian: Excuse me. Uh, excuse me! You’re not on the catwalk! Now, for the benefit of those that don’t know much about fashion vlogging – i.e. blokes – Princess Priscilla is one of hundreds of young ladies who upload videos of themselves modelling or discussing clothes and makeup. One of the most famous vlog formats is the “haul”, in which the vlogger goes out shopping and then talks us through their purchases – [grimaces] in excruciating detail. Let’s take a look at one of Priscilla’s videos.

The scene cuts to Priscilla, dressed in a white strapless top, addressing a webcam in a gushing tone amid a table piled high with makeup boxes.

Priscilla: …and here I have the latest lipstick from Eugene Parry, the colour is called Watermelon Fusion, and it’s actually the lipstick that I’m wearing right now…

The picture goes wavy and Priscilla’s voice fades into an echo. The scene then cuts to Priscilla still talking, with the caption “20 minutes later...” in the upper corner of the screen.

Priscilla: …and this is mascara by Nigel Norton, I took the liberty of applying some earlier…

Sian: And it goes on for another twenty! Now Priscilla, I love fashion and makeup as much as the next woman – [pats her lacy dress] as you can see…

Priscilla: That yellow really doesn’t go with your hair.

A sucking of breaths and a chorus of “Oooohs” results.

Sian: I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that [scowls]. …as much as the next woman, but even I find this a bit much.

Priscilla: [shrugs flamboyantly] I have plenty of happy subscribers, Sian. And no-one’s forced to watch me. I don’t do anyone any harm.

Sian: Your parents might disagree with that. They say that your advertising revenues don’t cover the amount you spend on designer goodies, and their credit card picks up the shortfall. And many of your friends and family think this vlogging has made you [makes an exaggerated whisper] rather vain.

Priscilla: No no, I’m not vain at all! The vlog is all about the products; the fact that my elegant figure and classical good looks are perfect for modelling them is irrelevant!

Sian: I think we’ve heard enough. Priscilla, we have a new makeup product called Dippe de Muque by Sasha Holdsworth, and I’m sure everyone would love to see you model it!

The audience cheers while the Princess puts a hand on her hip and pouts.

Sian: And such a fashion debut could well happen later tonight… or will one of our other hopefuls beat her to it? Let’s meet contender number two!

The rock musician
Sian: And she is Veronica Pleasance, 22 years old and from Lincoln. For the past three years Veronica has been vocalist and bass guitarist of the upcoming heavy metal band Cyanide Honeymoon.

Veronica is wheeled on, making devil horn gestures and sticking her tongue out at the booing audience.

Veronica: [sneering] Who does your research here? We’re not “heavy metal”, as you call it (that term’s so 1980s); we’re post-gothic, megalithic dirge-punk!

Sian: [snorts] Oh! I stand corrected – and by the way you don’t speak until you’re spoken to on this show. I’m sure the viewers know exactly what kind of music that is, but in case anyone has any doubts, we can watch an excerpt from one of your recent gigs. The song is called Lucifer’s Luncheon Meat.

The scene switches to a low-res phone video shot inside a darkened club, with a three-piece band performing on stage. At the back, a brawny figure of shaven head and indeterminate gender bashes a drum-kit as if clubbing a venomous snake. On the left of the stage, a green-haired woman in a boilersuit shreds away on a seven-string Ibanez. On the right, Veronica hollers into a microphone, intermittently pounding the strings of her bass. Her voice varies between an owlish screech and a guttural growl.

The scene cuts back to the studio where Sian looks a little disturbed.

Sian: Hmmmmm… I see why you’re called a vocalist and not a singer. Think I’ll stick with Adele, thank you very much.

Veronica: [rolls her eyes] Says it all.

Sian: Why does it have to be so dark?

Veronica: [shrugs] It’s the way these clubs are. Guess it’s to hide the bloodstains.

Sian: No, I mean the music. All about death and destruction and doing deals with the devil!

Veronica: Isn’t that what all great works of art are about?

Sian: I can tell you one thing: a lot of folk don’t find that racket a work of art. In fact, the reason we approached you to take part is because a neighbour of yours contacted us. Apparently he has to listen to that din for several hours every Sunday!

The audience boos and hisses.

Veronica: Well we have to practice, otherwise we wouldn’t sound so good!

Sian: [scoffing] Day job, Veronica, day job. I see you’ve tried to preempt the Mucky Dip by dyeing your hair a strange colour, but things could get a lot more lurid than that. As someone who writes songs about descending into the pits of Hell, it’ll be interesting to see how you cope with the real thing!

Veronica goes cross-eyed and sticks out her tongue.

Sian: [facing outwards] Maybe the thought of Veronica being vanquished in our vile vat is music to your ears, but before you commit to a decision, let’s meet our third and final contestant.

The mystic
Sian: Her name is Claire Voyant, she’s from Totnes in Devon, and she’s put her age down as “seven eons”, whatever that means. At least one or two of those eons have been spent as a mystic.

The audience boos and jeers as the aloof woman is wheeled on in her cage.

Sian: Now Claire, let me get this straight. You’re a fortune teller, an astrologer, a tarot card reader, a palm reader, a tea-leaf reader and a water diviner.

Claire: [in a whimsical voice] Indeed I am, Sian. And I’m a medium too.

Sian: Ah yes, a medium. I take it you’re referring not to your robe size, but your ability to commune with the dead?

Claire: That’s right. Since a young age I’ve had a natural affinity to departed spirits.

Sian: Really? Well that’s convenient because I’d really like to get in touch with my Great Aunt Gertrude.

Claire: I see [nodding serenely]. You should drop in for a session some time.

Sian: How about calling her up now? There’s a lot of scepticism surrounding this sort of stuff, so it would be great if you could demonstrate your powers in front of a live audience.

The audience agrees keenly.

Claire: Er, I’d love to. But you see, summoning the spirits requires a, erm, very special ambiance. [Looks around] The light in here is far too bright.

Sian: We can deal with that, don’t worry. [Looks sideways to a crew member] Can we dim the lights?

The lights go down until there are only two soft spots on Sian and Claire.

Sian: All yours!

Claire: [looking cross] Very well. Your Great Aunt..?

Sian: Gertrude.

Claire closes her eyes, waves her fingers rhythmically in the air, and hums gently. Sian pulls a face to the audience.

Claire: I have now passed into the spirit realm. I can see your aunt now. She is in a tranquil place. I hear the sound of gently running water.

Sian: Oo dear. Uncle Sid’s bladder must be playing up again!

Claire: [rocking her head in time with her arms] Your aunt says she misses you dearly, Sian. But she is watching over you. She is very proud of your achievements.

Sian: What does she think about my engagement?

Claire: She says you’ve chosen a wonderful man and she wishes you both every happiness.

Sian: Aww, isn’t that nice? Would you be able to send her a message from me?

Claire: [nods] Speak my child.

Sian: Tell her thanks for the socks she knitted and I’ll pop round for tea on Sunday. She’s still alive, you pillock!

The lights go up. The audience roar with laughter. Claire looks rather less serene than when she entered.

Sian: Oh, and I’m not engaged either!

Claire: [snarls] You might regret this! The spirit world doesn’t like to be deceived!

Sian: Oh I’m sure it doesn’t. But the regret will be all yours if you travel to the murky depths of the other realm!

Claire stands fuming in her cage.

Sian: So ladies, that concludes the introductions. You know how this works: third place walks away clean and dry with a Jammy Dodger trophy, second place remains in purgatory, and as for first place, well that’s where the fun really begins. Fun for us at least!

A high-mounted camera sweeps over above the Mucky Dip. As is standard for this part of the show, the chair is suspended above it and a thick mist of dry ice obscures the contents within.

Sian: [strolls forwards to the edge of the stage] Oh yes, all of our contestants are hoping for their big break, but only one will break the congealed skin on tonight’s muck! It’s over to you the public. Which of these wannabes do you find most wanting? Who deserves that comeuppance? Should it be Princess Priscilla, the makeup vlogger whose vain vids bore you to tears? Should it be Veronica Pleasance, the moshing metalhead who has you reaching for the earplugs? Or should it be Claire Voyant, the mystic who cons you with her mumbo-jumbo?

Poll closes at 10 pm Friday. Repeat voting is allowed with a period of at least 12 hours between votes.

Note: if Sian Welby actually does have a Great Aunt Gertrude, living or otherwise, it’s complete coincidence and something I have no knowledge of.

Claire Bardsley looked behind her, and then looked down again. Neither of the two options laid out before her were remotely acceptable, but short of a helicopter dropping a rope down out of the sky – and she certainly didn’t see one – there was no finding a third way here. Although come to think of it the helicopter sounded like a terrible idea as well. The pretty voice that concealed an extremely devious mind behind it continued to coax her.

“You’re going to have to trust me, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be fine. I know that you can do this.”

“Stop calling me fucking sweetheart!” shrieked Claire. No-one who knew Claire would have ever recognised such venom in her voice, but she was about to die, and it was all this stupid woman and her stupid show’s fault. Well, the twins could take a portion of the blame as well. She certainly wished she’d never met the twins.

“Jump, Claire,” said Larissa. There was no more gentle coaxing. There was no time for anything other than a command. It really had come to this. Just thirty minutes earlier she’d been in that restaurant more horrified than she’d ever been in her life. She practically longed for that kind of comparative boredom right now. Oh, how she wished she could go back and do this morning over. She’d have ran from her room as soon as that sweet, sweet voice startled her, and never looked back. Then her life could have went on as normal, with no slime, no pies and no Bolognese unless it was pasta night in the Bardsley household, which even then would be an entirely civilised event (apart from her father’s slightly too loud chewing) with absolutely nothing getting tossed onto her hair whatsoever, thank you very much. And absolutely no stunts that were like something straight out of a James Bond film. Although she supposed no matter what happened to James Bond, all he ever had to do was straighten his tie and he was perfectly presentable again.

Unfortunately, for starters, Claire Bardsley had no tie.

With a cry of terror, she jumped into the slime below.

***

Some thirty minutes before Claire’s horrifying leap into the freezing slop, she’d been running under the pleasant, bathing warmth of the sun. This was about the only good feeling she could grasp from her current situation. The street that she was jogging along, leading away from the restaurant, was terrifyingly crowded. She tried her best to pay no mind to what was going on around her, yet every laugh, every scream, every voice whether yelling or talking in hushed tones was clearly being directed right at the ludicrous sight of her covered in all kinds of horrible slop. The slimy custard that had thoroughly drenched her cute Orchid purple top was soaking against her upper and lower body. She dreaded to think of what condition her skin would be in by the time she finally would be able to clean this… this gunk off of her. Her head bobbed as she moved, occasionally sending some nasty surprise or another dripping from her head and down her face or trickling onto her body. A generous dollop of Bolognese that had managed to bury itself deep in her brown – although now largely creamy white – hair ended up dislodging itself and slithering down the front of her face. Her pretty nose twitched like a delicate rabbit’s; it remembered that overpowering smell all too well (and indeed still held more than a trace of it) and wanted nothing more to do with it. Claire’s hand rose frantically to try and clean her face, although her hands were already so messy from her futile efforts to mop off some of the slime that this was more of a hindrance than a help. She did at least manage to grasp a few pieces of beef that were covered in very slimy sauce and toss them off her face with a small, frustrated cry. Her tongue peeked from her mouth with revulsion, though her nose was thankful for her efforts, even if did still complain about the fact that it was currently being completely overwhelmed by the scent of sweet jam and cream.

Claire wasn’t happy. Everyone and everything was getting on her nerves. Suddenly, at the time of her life when she wanted it the most, she could no longer rely on being invisible. That was how they always got the invisible man or woman in those old sci-fi horror movies: as soon as something like mud or paint got all over them everyone could see them for the first time. All she wanted – other than to be clean and dry, and for the memory of this whole horrible event to be washed away along with the goo that covered her, of course – was to be left alone. That of course, wasn’t possible. Apart from the fact that she was an incredible spectacle to everyone who caught so much as a glimpse of her, Larissa was in her ear at all times. The earpiece itself she barely noticed; it was tiny, hidden away nicely and entirely uncumbersome (indeed the only thing about her ear that bothered her was the fact that freezing cold cream was dripping along the back and side of it), but Larissa was a persistent nuisance of perpetual bubbly energy. She was cheering Claire on all the way. While Claire thought that there were plenty of guys who would probably die of happiness to hear this heavenly voice squeeing and squealing in support like some rabid fangirl, it did nothing to improve her current mood. She was living her worst nightmare right now, having been completely humiliated and now being paraded around town where everyone could see her. This had supplanted even the spider in the shower incident – wherein she had opened the bathroom window while taking a shower only to have what to this day she swore was the biggest, nastiest spider in the history of the universe drop casually down onto her wet, naked breasts – as the most mortifying event of her life. The Bardsley household well remembered being awoken by the sounds of Claire’s horrified screams. She sincerely hoped her parents couldn’t see her right now.

“That’s the way, Claire, keep it going! You’re setting quite a pace – I wonder if you can keep that up the whole way? No need to push yourself if you’re feeling tired, although I daresay you’re looking forward to getting to the University, yes? I’m guessing they have showers on site, huh? So as soon as you get there we’ll let you go and get cleaned up! I’ll even arrange for some fresh clothes to be laid out for you when you arrive. Would you like that, sweetheart?”

I’d like to wring your damn neck. Sweetheart.

“Oh yes,” Claire blurted out instead, feeling pathetic as she completely failed to disguise how wonderful this sounded.

“What is it that you study, anyway?”

“Illustration Animation,” said Claire, sounding awkward. She always tended to whenever she had to talk about herself, and it was even worse now, as being made to answer Larissa’s questions made the fact that she was a contestant on a game show being broadcast over the internet seem somehow much more real than it had up to this point.

“Interesting! You did strike me as something of a creative type. I’d love to check out some of your work. I bet our viewers want to see too! I’ve been checking the stream chat throughout the show, and you’re proving to be amazingly popular as a contestant. You have yourself quite a few admirers out there, let me tell you! (And between you and me, I’m one of them!)”

Claire felt another bush explode across her face. She took a little solace in the fact that so many cakes had exploded over it already that no-one watching would be able to see it. Admirers!? All she’d done this whole time was make a complete and utter fool of herself. Larissa was obviously teasing her.

“So how are you enjoying the game so far?” asked Larissa.

It’s a delight! I’m just so glad to be on your awful show for morons, getting gunged and paraded around town you stupid, stupid woman!

“Uh… I don’t know… it’s certainly very… intense,” said Claire lamely, trying not to let her bitter thoughts creep through. “How did you even come up with something like this in the first place? How can you possibly afford to do all this?”

“Well, as I’ve mentioned, everybody watching has contributed a little something to the show (thanks again all!), although I admit, I cover most of the expense myself. My father’s a big-shot television executive. I did all kinds of work helping out on TV shows when I was around your age, but I always felt that there was way too much that got in the way of my creativity. Like, one time I helped out on a show that had a gunge tank segment at the end, and the woman in charge kept insisting that the gungee wear goggles and a showercap, no matter how many times I told her they’d be just fine without. You’d have thought she’d be grateful when I locked her in to demonstrate, but nope, she just screamed and squealed and threatened me, then she booted me right off her show and told my dad she would never work with me again! TV was just too restrictive, too many people getting in the way, so I jumped to the internet. I started way smaller than this show of course, but I’ve built up a small loyal fanbase that just laps this stuff up!  I also set up a Youtube partnership network, where we promote and support Youtube stars in return for a share of their ad revenue. You’d be surprised how much revenue we actually generate. So together  with my fans and supporters we’ve worked to come up with bigger and better ideas; really this show is the kind of thing I’ve always dreamed of doing – and I’m so happy we’ve got such a great contestant for our first run at it! Hopefully we’ve got a lot more to go with you, though don’t think I’m going to go easy on you just because I like you! So let’s stop taking about me, and get to know you a little better…”

Even in her current mood, Claire had to admit Larissa was a tremendous conversationalist. Ever a shy, quiet girl, Claire was used to putting other people’s social skills to the test. Most people when striking up conversation with Claire for the first time would struggle through a few awkward responses and then typically give up and move on with their lives. Her friends would attest that once you got to know her, she really was a nice, personable person, it was just that it took a while to get her to open up to you. She was almost tempted to lie, to try and make herself sound much more interesting than she really was – if Rachel had ended up on the show as originally intended, she certainly would have – but in the end, she was essentially an honest person. She’s rather just be herself, boring though she may be. Besides which, Larissa really did seem rather interested in her responses,  as she bounced effortlessly from topic to topic, asking about her likes (movies, doing charity work, reading, drawing), her ambitions (to work in animation, obviously, along with how she would like to take forward her charitable goals, and in something she was surprised to admit to Larissa, since she’d told almost no-one this before, how she dreamed of writing and illustrating her own children’s book someday) and, causing her to blush, whether she had a boyfriend (no… maybe there was someone she liked. Maybe.) She supposed part of it was that talking helped take her mind off of her current predicament, but Larissa definitely had a certain… charisma about her. She seemed way too friendly and charming to be at the helm of such an obviously mean-spirited game show. Although she did seem genuinely interested in her, Claire wondered whether really Larissa saw her as nothing more than a patsy. As soon as she thought this, she regretted opening up to her as much as she had.

Despite this, the pleasant conversation, along with Larissa’s soft silvern voice had helped her relax just a little when she turned a corner into an outdoor market and ended up squeaking with horror at the sheer number of people in front of her.

No way!

A few heads were turning towards her as she quickly spun on her heel and, in a complete panic, scurried off towards a deserted side street like a frightened mouse heading for the nearest hole. Halfway down the street, she found herself slowing to a crawl and finally, she had to pause and rest an arm against the wall. Her other hand went instinctively to the stitch in her side, getting soaked in some gooey custard that her orchid-purple top hadn’t been able to absorb. Claire really wasn’t athletic at all, and it didn’t help that she was trying to run after just eating a full meal. She looked at her watch and saw she had over twenty five minutes left to complete her challenge. Even though she was going to have to cut her pace dramatically, that should still leave her plenty of time – if she went by the main routes. The problem was, for one thing, she couldn’t face anything like that crowd she’d just seen. Mortifying though it had been, she’d been able to rush past the people laughing and shouting at her so far. The market on the other hand, was packed, and didn’t offer her room to just run around. She’d practically have to push her way past people, and she wasn’t sure that even the motivation of fifty thousand pounds could give her the courage to do so. That meant she’d have to try to make her way around all the crowded areas using streets like this one, and as she got closer and closer to the University, that would get increasingly more difficult to do and take her increasingly out of her way. It was going to result in a far longer route, and given that she’d already had to slow to a walk, was going to make this challenge much tighter than it should have been. And there was another problem, one that tightened her chest with fear: as she approached her destination, she risked being seen by somebody she knew. Randos over the internet and strangers in public were unbearable enough, but to be spotted running around gunged in public by her friends, her lecturers, her classmates or… anyone really, however they knew her, was unthinkable for Claire. There was no way she could ever face anyone who’d seen the events of the last couple of hours ever again. She would just die! As she walked down the street, occasionally using the wall for support, she could feel her muscles tightening, and not just from the rare exertion she’d just placed on them. They were tightening from the stress this whole ordeal was putting on her. Claire rarely let herself be taken out of her comfort zone but ever since Larissa’s voice had scared the living daylights out of her this morning, she’d been rocketed beyond it and was still going.

The truth was that Larissa taking Claire’s phone away for this challenge had been completely unnecessary. The last thing she would have ever done was called someone she knew to help her if it meant them seeing her in this state. Of course, drawing even more attention to her was the crew in the bike that followed her every move. Occasionally (and very deliberately, although she hoped Larissa didn’t notice) she dropped down a street too narrow for them to follow her, but they always popped up again, no matter what. There was no sign of them right now, but no doubt they’d meet her on the other side.

Her mind was filled with the horrors of what lay ahead once she came back out into the open, but just before she got there, she was started by a cyclist turning into the street and heading in her direction. Instinctively she threw herself against the wall behind a dumpster, to let him past for one thing, but also in the hopes that he might go past without seeing her at all. To her horror, he’d noticed her move and stopped in front of her. Now she was pressed up against the wall with a stranger blocking her path. She felt so nervous and embarrassed as he looked her up and down with a quizzical look on his face. She could feel her legs shaking beneath her, and it wasn’t just from the cold custard that had invaded her shorts.

“Geez! What on earth happened to you? Is that… Bolognese in your hair?” he asked. Then he seemed to notice the first thing most people usually noticed about Claire (perhaps understandably relegated to second today given that you didn’t typically find anyone running around town covered in custard, cream, cake, jam and yes, Bolognese): that she was obviously a very timid and shy girl. His expression softened.

“Is everything okay?”

Claire tried to stammer out some kind of reply to this when a sudden thought managed to cut through her awkwardness. Her eyes lit up. This was perfect! Larissa had told her she couldn’t call for help… but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t ask for it, and right now the universe seemed to have handed her a sympathetic soul. More importantly, it might just have handed her a bike.

“Could… could I borrow that?” she asked timidly. “I really, really need to be somewhere right now, and I can’t bear all these people looking at me and laughing… you’re seriously, like the first nice person I’ve seen this whole time… I know it’s a lot to ask but please, if you could just help me out…”

The biker gave a reluctant grimace. He turned his head to take a look at Claire’s custard-covered backside. She pressed herself up against the wall to put an end to this, fidgeting awkwardly. She left a slimy trail up against it, as if she were some kind of disgusting slug.

“Uh, I’m sorry,” he said with a shrug. “I can’t let you have my bike, but I do have a phone you can use. I can wait with you if you want to call someone to come pick you up, or…”

“Uh-Uh,” said Larissa into her ear, a quiet reminder of the rule she’d put in place.

“No!” cried Claire in a panic, as though he might get her disqualified simply for offering.

“What’s the matter!?” the biker replied, startled by her outburst.

“I don’t want anyone I know to see me like this,” said Claire truthfully. This called for desperate measures. She didn’t use it often, and she didn’t like using it – she wasn’t like her sister, who always had to get her own way – but Claire knew she had a winning smile. When she really, really wanted something, like the last cupcake from her mother’s latest batch, or for Ethan to go with her to see a film he wasn’t the least bit interested in, or when Rachel was trying (unjustly, of course) to pin the blame for something on her, she broke out her best weapon. She didn’t have confidence in many things about herself, but her smile was tried and true.

Claire gave him the most charming smile she could, trying to ignore the cream that ran into her mouth.

“Please… look, I promise you’ll get it back. I-I can bring it to you, or tell you where to come find it, I… I just need fifte-no, just ten minutes, that’s all!  Look at the state of me, I’m begging you, just let me borrow your bike.”

The biker gave her what was intended to be a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Instead he winced and they stood staring awkwardly at each other for a moment before he pulled his slimy hand away from her and gave it a good shake.

“I’m sure you’re a very nice girl,” he said. “And I’d like to help you out, really I would, but this isn’t just any bike, you know? Do you know what this is?”

Claire shook her soggy head, her winsome smile slowly beginning to wilt.

“This here is a Merida Scultra 400. Does that mean anything to you?”

Larissa’s heavenly voice spoke up, although only in her head, to say: blah blah blah BORING!

“Uh, yeah, it’s awesome, and I’ll be so, so careful with it…” began Claire. Feeling the precious bike slipping through her (admittedly slippery) fingers, she reached out and touched the handlebars. She was certainly not by nature an assertive person, but she was absolutely determined to get this Merida whatever-it-was.

“Hey… HEY!!! Don’t touch that, geez look what you did, you’ve got goop all over the place, get out of here kid.”

Forcefully taking his bike back, the man gave her an angry look that caused Claire to shrink backwards. She wasn’t used to being chided. It took her a moment to recover, by which time the man was back on his bike and picking up speed.

“WAIT!” Claire shouted, hating how whiny her voice sounded. She couldn’t see the crew at the moment, but she knew she must look like such a loser to anybody watching her. She gave a forlorn sniff, a decision she immediately regretted as several severe and definitely conflicting smells hit her all at once. Right now she felt so horrible and miserable that she really wanted to just tell Larissa that she quit, but even if she did, she’d still have to make her way home, and that was further away than the university was. Besides which, even though this was only her third challenge (of… oh god… seven, if she made it the whole way) she’d already been through so much of an ordeal that she really felt she couldn’t quit at this point. And that was really quite a scary thought; who knew what on earth else Larissa had in store? Pleasant or not, there seemed to be an imp of mischief in the woman. Who else could have come up with this bizarre internet game show where she was being watched by…

Was being watched by-

Claire looked around. For the first time since the show began, she actually did feel like someone unseen was watching her, and suddenly it was a really uncomfortable feeling, because really, the people watching at home were just like the people she saw all over the streets. Maybe worse. These people were paying to watching her humiliation, after all. She’d felt detached from it all this time, but there was something so creepy about the whole set-up.  As she turned she found herself face to face with a bright orange tabby cat that advanced towards her. Instantly she relaxed. The cat brushed up against her slimy leg, and with no hesitation, began licking at the cream that covered her shoe. She tried to shoo it away, though she never could bring herself to be all that admonishing to animals, at least not cute ones like this.

Claire stood miserably for a moment, then jerked up straight as though slapped. She didn’t have any time to waste! Failing this challenge would be exceptionally humiliating – the whole point of it in the first place was clearly just for her to suffer through the embarrassment of everyone seeing her in the completely ridiculous messy state she was in, so she’d be a complete and utter failure if she actually didn’t make it to her goal in time.

***

While at least she was no longer ‘blackened’ when Larson brought Erin back to the control room, the perky young presenter was, well, still looking far from presentable, Hayleigh thought, inspecting her colleague from head to toe. Her impressive mane of brown hair was looking very bedraggled, with many strands looking damp, frizzled, or just plain out of place. Getting all of that nasty black treacle out of it would have been no easy task; indeed she caught a pungent sickly-sweet smell coming from it even now that caused Hayleigh to instinctively back away from her, drawing air through her teeth and hissing with disgust. She picked up her bag from the table next to her and quickly produced a small bottle that she sprayed into the air around her, giving her co-host a charming smile to say that she meant no offense. Hayleigh had a very low tolerance for unpleasant smells. The lovely strawberry fragrance now surrounding her was considerably more to her liking. She placed the bottle within arm’s reach in case she needed it again, although the delightful smell from the linen spray she used on most of her clothes, including the lovely emerald skater dress she was wearing today, soon made her forget all about it. Since Erin’s own clothes had been completely ruined beyond all hope, she was now wearing a neon yellow wrap dress. Given that she didn’t like the colour yellow or wearing dresses at all, Larissa had probably selected the new set-up for her. She gave a nervous look over at her boss to make sure she wasn’t going to be overheard. Fortunately Larissa was far too caught up with Claire to be paying her any mind. Larson, changed into a fresh suit, stood next to her holding a bunch of grapes. The man, who had once punched a gentleman who’d lunged towards Larissa so hard he’d knocked his front teeth out, now held the grapes above Larissa’s mouth whenever she tilted her head towards him. She rose up and bit off grapes one at a time, as though she were a shark.

“Are you okay, Erin?” she asked softly. Erin just glared at her. Hayleigh pouted, summoning up all of her presenter’s charm to try and get back into the girl’s good books. “Oh, please don’t be mad at me. You know nobody can change her mind once she’s set on something. She would’ve only ended up gunging me too, and that really wouldn’t have helped anything now, would it? We wouldn’t have had anyone left to present the show!”

Hayleigh tilted her head and gave her co-host a pleading look. She looked completely unmoved.

Whatever, she thought to herself, although she made sure not to show her annoyance. Erin could be such a brat sometimes. It wasn’t as though any of this was her fault. She’d come around in time, she always did once she’d had her little ten minutes of defiance.

“Don’t try to make out like it was about the show, we all know you were only out to save yourself. You always get away with it…”

“Get away with it? Get away with what!?” asked an incredulous Hayleigh. “I’ve done nothing to get away with. I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you ever putting your neck on the line to help anyone else around here when she gets up to tricks. You were running straight for the door during that whole ordeal with Annalise and the bucket of cockroaches…”

“Couldn’t get out the door though could I, ‘cause you were already outside it holding it shut!”

“Annalise was a fuck-up Erin, just like you. I’m not the one leaving our boss voicemails calling her a ‘stupid bitch’, for heaven’s sake, what did you think was going to happen? You know I like you, Erin, I do, but do you see the position you’re putting me in here? I’m not going to take responsibility for your mistakes. Just because I’m careful not to make any blunders doesn’t mean…”

“The only reason you’re even here in the first place is because you got yourself neck deep in debt after daddy cut off your credit card! She owns you. You mark my words – your time is going to come. You think just because you run around grovelling to her all the time that you’re safe? Ha! You know, Hay, when you’re best friends with the tiger, that just means you’re last in line to get eaten.”

Hayleigh’s eyes burned with anger, partly because she never liked being reminded of the fact that – although the two of them would never, ever say such a thing aloud – she really was owned by Larissa. Also, however, because that last remark hit much too close to home for her liking.

She turned away as though struck, then span back round to make an angry retort when there was Larissa standing right in front of her smiling.

“Hi!”

“Aaaah!” screamed Hayleigh and Erin in unison.

“We have a lot of fun together, the three of us, don’t we?” asked Larissa. Hayleigh and Erin resolutely agreed, although Hayleigh popped a few strands of blonde hair in her mouth and started to chew on them, a nervous habit she’d had dating all the way back to the few times she’d gotten in trouble at school. “I like to do things a little bit differently from the norm. That’s why, when someone who works for me slips up (as we all do from time to time!) I like to, you know, get a little playful about how I handle things. Keep things light, you know? Fun. We all know each other around here, we’re all friends, practically family, so no-one’s going to get the wrong idea or misconstrue anything that might go on between us. Isn’t that right, Erin?”

On this point, Erin also resolutely agreed, as did Hayleigh, who hadn’t even been asked. Hayleigh had visited Larissa’s home on a few occasions, and locked in a glass cabinet in her living room sat a grand display of magnificent porcelain dolls. Right at this moment she felt every bit that she was one of those dolls, and she’d been found lying in a different part of the room than Larissa had left her, and she was now desperately trying to manoeuvre herself back towards her expected position before she was taken apart in order for her owner to discern just what previously undiscovered component was powering such independent action.

“Splendid!” said Larissa brightly. “Because I hate the idea of there being any uncomfortableness around the place. I mean, I would never want to go around shouting at my employees, because that would- FOR FUCK’S SAKE HAYLEIGH STOP CHEWING YOUR FUCKING HAIR RIGHT NOW!!!!”

Hayleigh leapt out of her skin in a way that made even Claire’s reaction, when the unexpected Larissa alarm clock had went off earlier in the day, look dignified. She cowered before the twin-tailed beauty. Her sudden outburst had genuinely shocked her. Not only was Larissa losing control of her temper, at least in any visible or audible sense, unheard of, there was something about that sweet voice suddenly bursting into rage that was insanely upsetting. It was like a cute little puppy dressed up in bows suddenly leaping forwards savagely to bite you. And then just as suddenly the anger that had been contorting Larissa’s pretty features evaporated leaving behind her usual soft, charming demeanour.

“Because that would be unpleasant, wouldn’t it? Relax, Hayleigh. Relax! I was just joking, just demonstrating why no-one wants any shouting around the place. (Don’t put it back in though!)  A nasty business, that’s what I think that would be. That said, though, as much as we enjoy having fun, there was a little bit of a serious point I was sort of hoping you might take away from this morning’s festivities, and it wasn’t that Erin’s going to be getting married again tomorrow!  Let me make it clear (although I don’t know why it wouldn’t be already!): the next couple of days, with our new show and everything, are very important to me, and to you, and to our company. So I think it would be just great if we could all get our acts together, get on the same page, and not be screwing around fighting with each other. Do you agree?”

They did. Resolutely.

“Now with all that said, there’s nothing more important to me than my two best friends. So if there’s some issue between you both that needs to be worked out, I can just stop everything. I’ll stop the show, I’ll tell Claire to just stop running, we’ll stop the timer and she can just stand there in the middle of the street covered in mess (hopefully she doesn’t need to go to the bathroom! I did forget to tell her to go before she left the house this morning!) until we’re all ready to continue. I can’t bear the thought of there being any tension between us. I know you both wouldn’t take me away from monitoring the show without good reason. So what’s the problem, here, exactly?”

“N-nothing,” said Hayleigh, resisting her gibbering mind urging her to flee the room immediately, just as she had when she’d seen those nasty cockroaches. “Erin’s just a bit overemotional at the moment, with everything that’s happened. She’s upset that I didn’t stand up for her this morning.”

Erin’s teeth were practically grinding together at her good ‘friend’ Hayleigh’s attempt to make sure, if wrath was about to be brought down, then it would be brought down on her. Her eyes, however, were flickering nervously in Larissa’s direction. Hayleigh forcibly reminded herself that she was still the tiger’s favourite, although she didn’t like Larissa’s thoughtful pause.

“I’m sorry about before, Erin,” said Larissa finally. “I have a… kind of twisted sense of humour. Or else I never would have come up with the concept for this show now, would I? It’s just that… we’ve been friends for so long I think we’re okay having fun with things like that, but then I take it too far, and you get all upset… I promise, I never meant to make you cry, Erin, and I so don’t want to lose our friendship over this…”

“It’s okay,” said Erin, who just sounded defeated. Even Hayleigh felt kind of bad for her, hearing her sound like that. Erin knew what the score really was; she just didn’t want an argument. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I never should have left you that message and said those awful things.”

“Friends…?” asked Larissa hopefully.

“Friends,” Erin agreed, holding out her hand. Larissa looked at it with an amused smile.

“Might still be a bit sticky for my tastes, sweetheart! But yay, friends! So now to sort out things between you and Hayleigh: would you like me to put Hayleigh into the gunge tank? Would that make up for her not taking your side before?”

Hayleigh froze, her stomach filling with butterflies. She deliberately hadn’t sided with Erin because she was certain if she had she would have ended up getting gunged along with her. And now Larissa was talking about gunging her exactly because she hadn’t!

Last to be eaten, she thought, licking her lips, her eyes pleading with Erin not to condemn her to the same messy fate she’d had to endure.

“No,” said Erin finally. Hayleigh wished she could have been a bit quicker in saying so – oh, how she must have just loved watching her squirm! – but she breathed a sigh of relief. “She didn’t do anything wrong. I was just… being childish about the whole thing. I got what I deserved. Hayleigh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t being fair to you.”

“That’s okay, Erin,” said Hayleigh. “I’m glad we’ve gotten this straightened out. Larissa, we’re both really sorry to have distracted you with this. I promise it won’t happen again.”

“Then let’s hear no more about it,” said Larissa. “Sorry to have had you dragged out of the shower Erin, but a lot of people in the stream chat were asking where you were earlier. You missed all the action with Claire! Boy, was that food fight something else!  She’s onto her third task now; a messy run across town to get to her University site before time runs out. And wow – for a girl who seemed so shy and quiet at first, she has been swearing up a storm. Under her breath mind you, but her microphone’s picking it all up just the same. Oh, but I almost forgot the whole reason I brought you here in the first place. As I said, our deeelightful contestant is on her way to her University as we speak. This is a pretty easy one, so I’m expecting her to make it through, and I want the two of you to be there when she does, to give her this.”

Larissa reached over to Hayleigh and handed her a golden envelope.

“What’s this?” asked Hayleigh. On the one hand, she was glad to be getting sent out of the studio – she was typically much happier the further away from Larissa she was. On the other, the envelope was a surprise, and she wasn’t in the mood for any more surprises today.

“Claire’s to open it when she passes the challenge. Don’t look inside it beforehand!” said Larissa, before giving both presenters a few other instructions. Hayleigh listened attentively, nodding all the while. She’d gotten almost used to being Larissa’s doll, by now. She didn’t like it, but you had to learn how to adapt. Erin never would, and that was why she would always keep slipping up and making mistakes like she had this morning. Hayleigh had worked long and hard at becoming Larissa’s favourite doll, and that was a position she meant to keep, no matter the cost.

***

Claire took the long way round, hoping to avoid anywhere too crowded. To her surprise, the cat actually ran along with her, perhaps in the belief that the cream all over Claire Bardsley would provide a never-ending source of food for it. Eventually she managed to make it to the riverbank. From here she was railroaded, since she had to make it across the footbridge to the other side. Any other route would take her well over her time limit. Here she made only one slight detour to avoid running through a massive mud puddle at the side of the road from the rain a couple of days earlier. Her feline companion ran on ahead of her. Once she was about half-way along it, she suddenly heard the bike following her rev up sharply. As she turned to see what was going on the bike suddenly tore through the muck, sending a huge muddy spray into the air. Claire screamed and leapt backwards away from it. Her reaction time was good but unfortunately this did absolutely nothing whatsoever to shield her from the massive wave of mud that showered over her front from head to toe. She looked down at the thick slushy mud that covered her already ruined, soggy clothes and the bare skin of her arms and legs. The mucky spray had succeeded in dislodging most of the remaining spaghetti from her hair, although she could hardly consider a cold mud shower to be an improvement.

“Did you really have to do that?” she said, talking to Larissa.

“You think the driver did that on purpose?”

“I’m not stupid, Larissa. I know you told him to do that.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?”

Claire stamped her foot. Her patience with this woman had plain worn out.

“It’s so obvious it was you! Why are you even bothering to deny it!?”

“Oh my, you’re so smart, sweetheart! Aren’t you smart?” said Larissa, in tones suggesting that she was talking to a dog that had just demonstrated it was capable of shaking hands. “We’d better call the Crown Prosecution Service! I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to learn of that particular prosecuting technique – ladies and gentleman of the jury, it’s just so obvious that this woman did it! Case closed! You don’t think it’s possible on this messy game show that my staff might see a chance to get you covered in mud and act on their own initiative?”

“Did you ask him to do that?” asked Claire, deciding to change tack.

“Yes, of course I did,” said Larissa happily. “I noticed you trying to lose our crew a few times, so I thought I’d send you a bit of a message in hopes that you’ll stay on track from now on. We appreciate your co-operation!”

Claire wrung her muddy hands, fuming. She wanted to rip into this vile woman, but for one thing she would probably look quite the fool (not like she did now, ha ha) and for another, she could do without Larissa having any more bright ideas. Only just then she had one of her own. It seemed so obvious now that it came to her, and better yet, there was nothing Larissa could do about it. There was nothing against it in the rules she’d set for the challenge, and it would save Claire a TON of hassle. And, she thought, if Larissa dared to try and change her rules midway through, she’d get her own arguments about fairness thrown right back at her. So instead of continuing along the muddy bank to get to the bridge, she took a right turn.

“Hmmm? What’s this? You’re not giving up, are you? You seem to be going back the way you came,” said Larissa.

“I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m sure you do. I’d keep an eye on your time though, if I were you!”

Looping back a couple of blocks brought Claire to the best sight she’d seen since this twisted show began: the car wash. A girl out front with dirty blonde hair (not dirty in the same sense as Claire currently had dirty brown hair) and brown highlights was currently waxing a car. Inside, a gentleman was patiently reading a book while he waited. The girl looked up as she saw her approach, raising a curious eyebrow as she examined the whirlwind of mess that was Claire.

“Yes, I know,” said Claire, instinctively raising her hands to try and keep things calm. She was quite concerned that she might come off as a lunatic. “It’s a long story! Look, I don’t mean to bother you, but I don’t suppose you could do me a MASSIVE favour and… hose me off a little? I don’t have any money on me, but I swear, I’ll come back and pay you whatever you want. Please please please help me out here, would you?”

Before she could attempt to seal the deal with her wholesome smile, she felt something hard smack the back of her head. Her smile contorted with shock, and her jaw fell open. She didn’t know what on earth had been thrown at her, but it had been pretty sore. It wasn’t until she felt something soft and slimy run down her neck and onto her shoulder that she saw she’d been hit by an egg!  As she turned, she saw the girl she’d just been looking at was behind her. Or at least, her twin was: this girl, while her face and body looked just the same, had brown hair with blonde highlights. Cute, she thought dryly. Before she could notice any other differences, the girl stepped towards her and raised another egg. Her feline companion hissed at the girl.

“Waitwaitwaitwaitpleasewait!” said Claire, attempting to retreat backwards. Unfortunately for her, while her messy appearance might have rendered her visible for a change, apparently everyone was still completely incapable of listening to a single thing she said. The second egg was cracked off the top of her head, yolk dribbling down through her hair and dripping from her fringe onto her face. There was so much mess there already that she was surprised she could feel it under all the layers, but she did, oh how she did, and it was distinctly unpleasant having that egg goo sopping all over her scrunched-up nose . Egg slime dribbled into her ear, where she also heard Larissa waxing lyrical about how good eggs were supposed to be for your hair and skin, the loathsome woman!  Large slivers of yellow goo trickled across her face, while the white seemed to be staying put in her hair.

It hadn’t been a good day for Claire, and it was fair to say that at this point she snapped. She’d had more than enough of constantly getting messy, and she was NOT about to be on the receiving end of the four remaining eggs in the carton the smirking twin was holding. She grabbed at the carton, but the girl was too quick for her and held them back out of the way. She was about to get another egg ready when she suddenly gave a sharp, shocked scream. The cat had decided to sink it’s claws into her bare leg. This gave Claire the opening she needed to wrest the carton away. The other girl was struggling to control her laughter.

“You think people getting hit with eggs is funny? Well, I bet you’ll love this then!” shrieked Claire. Even in her current frenzied state, a more rational part of Claire’s brain that was observing all this and thinking she was acting quite the buffoon was at least relieved she hadn’t yelled “WELL, YOLK’S ON YOU!!!” It was perhaps, the last tiny bit of dignity left to her at this point.

She spun and threw the egg at the twin behind her. Sadly her earlier pie-throwing success was not replicated – her aim was actually fine, but the twin squeaked and jumped out of the way, leaving her egg to splat, and shatter, against the male customer’s car window. Claire gasped and froze. Her neck tried to sink into her body, turtle-like. Her shoulders stiffened. She couldn’t see the man’s reaction behind the egg-goop covered window, but if she had held any cautious optimism as to whether he might somehow be pleased by this turn of events, it was dashed as soon as he got out of the car and stormed over to her.

“What the hell’s going on here!?  Is this some kind of joke!?”

“A-actually, it’s a yolk,” stammered Claire, and gave a nervous, panicked giggle. The last part of her rational mind sighed and left her to it.

“Do you think this is funny? Why the fuck are you throwing eggs at my car?”

“W-w-w-well, Imean… uh, er… well, you’re in the right place for it, at least!” said Claire. She tried busting out her smile, but unfortunately a big slimy egg yolk smile did nothing to defuse the gentleman’s temper.

“We’ll get that cleaned off right away, sir. This girl doesn’t work here, by the way. I think she must have uh, escaped from some hospital or something,” said the dirty blonde twin.

“I think she came from the swamp, from the look of her,” offered the other, who’d finally managed to free herself from the cat.

The man turned to the girls and began ranting, although Claire didn’t hear any of it, as Larissa began talking in her ear. She wouldn’t say the woman was panicked, but she was speaking more urgently than she had up to this point, and that definitely caught her attention.

“Um, Claire?” said Larissa. “I have a tiny confession to make. I was aware there was a car wash a few blocks from the restaurant, so I made a something of a deal with the twins just in case something like this came up – this is a messy game show, not a wet and messy game show. What I didn’t know though, was that one of the parties you had so much fun with during lunch works in that building across the street there. And, well, that woman that ran out of the restaurant – Holly, I think her name is? – she may have been lurking around outside and overheard part of the conversation we had. So I have good news and bad news!”

Claire’s hand went to her mouth. No, she thought. Nononononononono.

“The good news is she doesn’t seem to know that you’re part of a messy game show, so you’re not disqualified! Phew! Uh, but the bad news is that the restaurant staff were pretty much trying to pin the blame for the whole thing on her, and she used that conversation to well, finger you for the whole thing. And my spies tell me that they are just about to turn the corner and…”

“THERE SHE IS!!!!”

“GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! No!” screamed Claire, standing bolt upright with complete horror on her face before turning on her heel and sprinting for her life.

“Ah, yes. There they are,” said Larissa.

“Here,” shouted the gentleman whose car she’d inadvertently splattered. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Claire risked a look behind her, heart pounding in her chest. The man and the twins had joined a group of about a dozen people, Holly included, in hot pursuit of her. She could hear the noise of the bike somewhere in the distance: their priority right now appeared to be to remain incognito. The cat, probably the only friend she could ever hope to have during this awful contest, decided that Claire was far too dangerous an individual to be associating with, and ran off in another direction.

“Larissa, please!!! You have to help me!” screamed Claire. “Send your team in!”

“My team’s good, sweetheart, but they can hardly hold back the tide!”

“You’d pay them a bunch of money, you said! They’d all have a good laugh about it, you said! I’m going to go to jail! I’m going to die!”

“No no no,” said Larissa calmly. “There’s solid legal precedent for public acts of gunge. Don’t you remember that case where that vigilante group went after those dirty politicians and gunged them on camera? That case dragged on, but in the end, largely I believe due to an expert’s testimony, it was ruled that gunging or pieing someone, even in public, no matter how important they may or may not be, is perfectly legal. It was a controversial ruling to be sure, but hey, it worked out well for us, didn’t it?”

Now that she came to think about it, Claire did seem to recall something like that. She didn’t really know much about slimy politics or slimy… slime, so she wasn’t sure of the details. Clown Court, this must have been!  It sounded to her a pretty shockingly bad decision – the start of some nightmare future where people in the streets pelted her with pies, Bolognese rained from the sky, and slime… washed her house away, or something – but she probably was in the clear. As far as criminal charges went.

“I’m going to die!”

“Now everything’s going to be just fine!” said Larissa cheerfully. This confidence did not appear to be shared by various people surrounding Larissa, wherever she was. She could hear quite a bit of panicked shouting in the background through the earpiece. “I have a plan already in motion.”

“Thank God,” said Claire. She was starting to run short on breath. She had a good lead start on the mob pursuing her, but she was worn out from all her earlier exertions, and she really didn’t do much in the way of exercise.

“You just have to make it to the bridge,” said Larissa.

“The what!?” screeched Claire. “I can’t make it that far! Even if I could, what am I supposed to do when I get there!?”

“If you’ve got the energy to shout at me, you have the energy to get to the bridge – you’re so close. We’re all rooting for you! Go, go, go!”

Claire really didn’t know how she managed to make it – her poor muscles, such as they were, were crying for mercy – but finally the bridge came into view. Her lead had been cut drastically though. She could feel her pursuers closing in, but she didn’t dare turn around again.

“Okay, I’m at the bridge,” Claire barely managed to gasp. “What no- oh no no no no no, wait a minute. I am so not jumping into the river, no way!”

“I would definitely not recommend doing that,” said Larissa. “You need to run to the other side. By the way, no offence, I mean this in the nicest possible way, but you just have an absolutely hilarious way of running. Everyone’s telling me I need to just give you challenges where you run all the time!”

“What!? What’s wrong with the way I run!?” cried Claire, cursed to remain self-conscious even up to the last moments of her life.

“Nothing! Nothing at all! Forget I said anything. Now the bridge continues past the river over the traffic. That’s where you need to be, because you’re going to jump down from there.”

Claire didn’t consider herself a violent person, so even though she understood where they came from, so unhelpful was Larissa’s plan, she was rather shocked at the violent images of what she wanted to do to Larissa that ran through her head.

“I so am not!”

“Relax, we have a tipper lorry sitting just under the bridge with something soft waiting to break your fall.”

If Claire had just a little less on her mind at the moment, she probably would have twigged before she actually looked down and saw the lorry. It had something soft for her to jump onto – or into – all right.

“You couldn’t have gotten a mattress or something!?”

“Picky, aren’t we? Sorry Claire, but I’m running a messy show here. I’ve got all the mess you could ever want, so it’s the best I could do on short notice. If you want to wait while I try to get something more suitable, your majesty, by all means!”

Damn it!

Bracing herself, Claire awkwardly clambered over the railing as carefully as she could. Slippery as she was, the last thing she wanted to do was slide off the side of the bridge and bounce off the road below and have to wait for Larissa to send out an ambulance made out of jelly, or whatever. Grimacing, she looked at the tipper lorry below. Usually she might expect to see construction tools or some such sitting in the open container in the back. This one was filled with what looked to her to be pretty pink strawberry pudding. She could hear urgent shouting very close by now. From the corner of her eye, she could see Holly had pulled in front of the pack and was closing in. Well, she’d fled the restaurant quickly enough – it seemed distance was no barrier to her either.

“Don’t worry, the earpiece and microphone will be fine,” said Larissa helpfully. “The only thing not pudding proof here is you!”

Claire Bardsley looked behind her, and then looked down again. Neither of the two options laid out before her were remotely acceptable, but short of a helicopter dropping a rope down out of the sky – and she certainly didn’t see one – there was no finding a third way here. Although come to think of it the helicopter sounded like a terrible idea as well. The pretty voice that concealed an extremely devious mind behind it continued to coax her.

“You’re going to have to trust me, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be fine. I know that you can do this.”

“Stop calling me fucking sweetheart!” shrieked Claire. No-one who knew Claire would have ever recognised such venom in her voice, but she was about to die, and it was all this stupid woman and her stupid show’s fault. Well, the twins could take a portion of the blame as well. She certainly wished she’d never met the twins.

“Jump, Claire,” said Larissa. There was no more gentle coaxing. There was no time for anything other than a command. It really had come to this. Just thirty minutes earlier she’d been in that restaurant more horrified than she’d ever been in her life. She practically longed for that kind of comparative boredom right now. Oh, how she wished she could go back and do this morning over. She’d have ran from her room as soon as that sweet, sweet voice startled her, and never looked back. Then her life could have went on as normal, with no slime, no pies and no Bolognese unless it was pasta night in the Bardsley household, which even then would be an entirely civilised event (apart from her father’s slightly too loud chewing) with absolutely nothing getting tossed onto her hair whatsoever, thank you very much. And absolutely no stunts that were like something straight out of a James Bond film. Although she supposed no matter what happened to James Bond, all her ever had to do was straighten his tie and he was perfectly presentable again.

Unfortunately, for starters, Claire Bardsley had no tie.

With a cry of terror, she jumped into the slime below.

Holly grabbed her shoulder.

“You’re not getting awAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!”

To the deep regret of Holly, Claire had very much just committed to going, and even though she flailed desperately and tried to wrap some part of her squirming body around the railing, by grabbing Claire, so inadvertently  had she. Drivers and pedestrians below who were in the vicinity of the lorry were quite astonished to see two screaming girls dropping from the bridge above into a container filled almost to the brim with messy pudding. Pudding splashed outwards over the edges as they went under. Claire could feel Holly hugging her body tightly, pressing her face against her back as though somehow this might shield her from the goo. Of course, she could also feel pudding everywhere. The universe had it in for Claire Bardsley, and the universe was pudding. Unfortunately, despite the questionable delights of her unexpected pudding bath, she was at first unable to get to the surface thanks to Holly clinging to her for dear life. The poor woman had obviously just had quite the scare. Eventually she managed to get herself to a vertical position, and with a sullied Holly just about managing to finally do something resembling co-operating with her (but not letting go of her, oh no), two blobs of pudding managed to bob up above the surface. Claire panted for air. She could feel Holly’s breath (pudding scented – the screaming woman must have swallowed a good mouthful) against her neck. The woman’s damp nose was pressed up against her.

“I really, really am terribly sorry about all this – more than you’ll ever know,” said Claire softly once she’d had a moment to recover. “But could you maybe please let go of me now?”

Holly didn’t appear to hear this, continuing to use Claire as her own personal life-raft in the middle of the pudding sea. Her head slumped forwards, her slimy blonde ponytail, which was now flopping around and the only part of her hair that had any kind of existence independent of pudding (the rest of her head was an indiscernible blob), sweeping against Claire’s face like a damp paintbrush. This was quite enough for Claire, who began squirming and pulling at Holly’s hands to try and extract herself from the woman.

“Get off, I mean it, get off right now!”

Finally she managed to get away, sculling away through the goo to put some distance between them before Holly could get all clingy again. The lorry was moving by now, sending more and more freezing cold dessert to slosh against the bodies of the two unrecognisable gunky ladies. There was pudding in places Claire didn’t even want to think about. Holly looked distraught, or at least as distraught as a blob of pudding could look. Her beautiful magenta-lace blouse was done for. She hoped Larissa might offer her some sort of compensation. Maybe she’d give her a lot of money, but she sure doubted Holly would be sharing many laughs about this.

“Don’t say a word,” Holly said finally. “Not one word.”

“I’m so sorry,” Claire began. She couldn’t help it – she’d never really had anyone be mad at her before, and much like the over-encumbrance of pudding, it made her feel uncomfortable. Even if her poor body had to be raked through the slime, she’d at least like her otherwise good name not to be.

“WHAT DID I SAY!? WHAT DID I JUST SAY!? LOOK AT THE STATE OF ME! MY GOOD CLOTHES! MY HAIR! I’M SUPPOSED TO BE BACK AT WORK! I HAVE A DATE TONIGHT! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!!! I DON’T BELIEVE THIS! THIS IS SO GROOOOOOSS! AND IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!” screeched Holly, splashing her hands in the pudding furiously.  Claire winced. The lorry took them a couple of blocks before the driver came and, with the help of a vehicle access lorry, helped them both out. By this time Claire had absolutely stopped attempting to say anything, and was on the whole just glad to be free of both the pudding and this horrible shrieking gargoyle. It was hard to believe that it was Holly’s annoying laugh that had started all this rolling; that laugh was heavenly compared to everything she’d had to hear in the last few minutes. Holly had now turned her not inconsiderable fury onto the driver. This seemed to Claire to be a good time to make a speedy getaway. Once she was out of sight (but oh dear god, she wasn’t out of earshot, and Holly was still going) she looked at her pudding-covered watch, and after her attempt to clean it with her pudding-covered hand failed, she wiped it on a patch of grass nearby until she could just make out the time. While she was going to have to seriously evaluate whether she should continue on with this utterly horrible show, she’d come too far to fail this particular challenge now. And, she sternly warned the universe, the worst was definitely over.

Less than ten minutes left!

Claire got moving as quick as she could after all the exertion she’d put her poor body under. She desperately needed to start exercising properly… not that she intended messy running through town to become a regular thing, of course. Hopefully everyone had given up on their pursuit of her: if they hadn’t, they would have a very clear trail of pudding to follow. Perhaps that explained how the crew on the bike managed to catch back up to her again, having had to take a longer route around. With six minutes to spare, she made it to the street her university campus was on. She’d ended up cutting it way closer than she should’ve, but she felt a considerable burst of relief that her current ordeal was finally almost over. God, to be clean again! Her relief ended as the entrance to the site came into view. Her heart leapt into her throat. She stopped moving. She’d lost. The challenge was over. Fifty thousand pounds blew away into the wind.

Ethan and Heather were at the front gates handing out flyers. Ethan must have gotten roped into doing it once she dropped their lunch plans earlier. There was no way to get past without both of them seeing her, and even if she could there was a huge crowd of people milling around the front of the campus. She threw herself down another side street, planting her back against the wall and breathing heavily, both from all the running and from the fear of almost getting spotted by her friends. She closed her eyes and slowly sank to the ground like she was deflating. After all this, she was close, so close, and now she couldn’t bring herself to go in.

Not even five minutes left.

(I have to go in!)

(No way!)

(Don’t think about it! Just do it!)

(Oh no, I’m not listening to you again, that’s what got me into this literal mess in the first place!)

(Fifty thousand pounds!)

(It’s impossible though! It’s been bad enough already and it’s only going to get worse! I don’t want any of them to see me like this!)

(They’re your friends, for heaven’s sake! They’ll be nice about it!)

(But everyone will see. I’ll be a laughing stock for years! I’ll never live it down! I’m smart and responsible, not a girl who goes on some clown show, jumps off bridges into pudding, and just all-round gets made a fool of!)

Claire took a deep breath. She called herself smart, but she wasn’t really being all that smart right now. She had to stop panicking and think about this. There was more than one way into the university… and actually… if she remembered right, there might be a way in where if she was really lucky, she might not even be seen at all.

Four minutes.

She had to run again, running away from the main entrance now and slipping round the back. A storm had hit the town hard a few months back and damaged one of the walls that were erected around the campus. It was too high to climb over, but as she looked up, she smiled at what she saw. Part of the wall had been rebuilt, but there was still a hole there that she could slip through to get into the campus.

“I made it!” said Claire happily. “I just need to get through there and I’m finally done with this.”

Claire leapt up and hauled herself through the gap. It was a tight squeeze, but thanks to her slimy body, she slipped through with ease.

Apart from her butt.

She panicked again. Frantically she wriggled and squirmed to try and get through. When that didn’t work, she tried desperately to force herself back out through the other side, legs flailing wildly in the air.

“Nonononono!”

She was stuck!

“Oh no!” Larissa cried, although the mirth in her voice was obvious. “Now I hate to be such a stickler for rules Claire, but I’m going to be firm on this: your whole body needs to be on campus, including your big old lumpy butt! Let’s get a close-up of that for the viewers watching at home!”

“I don’t have a lumpy butt!”

After a horrible moment where she envisioned herself simply being stuck here forever while everyone came to laugh at this stupid, messy, trapped girl, Claire dug her hands into the wall and tried with everything she had to push her perfectly normally-sized backside through the hole. Her efforts bore fruit, although unfortunately she managed not only to tumble out of the hole but out of her denim shorts as well. If she’d thought her sister a spectacle in the garden earlier this morning, that was nothing compared to her now: here she was at a place of learning, covered in gunk and in her cute white daisy lace underwear – or at least what was left of them given that they were completely soaked in the custard and pudding that had also wrecked her shorts.

Karma had it in for her, clearly. She was surprised she hadn’t fallen down face first into a giant pool of mud. As it was she’d fallen onto the grass and gotten a little dirty, which wasn’t going to bother her at all after the day she’d had so far. Was she being punished for her greed in accepting Larissa’s offer in the first place and taking part in this horrible show? For her arrogance in believing that this (or rather, the prize money) was actually some reward owed to her? But that wasn’t fair at all! She’d been a good person her whole life, for heaven’s sake! Surely she had some karma to burn? Didn’t she?

“Bardsley! What on earth is going on here?”

Her head jerked up to see one of her lecturers, local celebrity Rosalind Darlington-White – so beloved to her students that she was (secretly!) known even to Claire as Rosalind Darlington-Shite – striding purposefully in her direction. Frantically she got to her feet and grabbed for her shorts. To her great dismay, she found she’d ripped them almost in two in her struggle to get free. While they were obviously no longer going to be fit for purpose anyway, it would have been nice to have been able to put them back on until she could get a replacement. Desperately she grabbed them and held them in front of her sodden underwear. It was a decent as she could possibly hope to appear right at this moment. With no other tricks up her sleeve, she went back to her winning smile, which froze halfway up and started twitching at one of the corners.

“Uhhhhhhhhhh… let me explain…”

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.

Hello, this is my first story on this site, and it came out of watching various YT clips and mashing ideas together to create the plot. This will be a story of multiple parts (probably 3 or 4), which I will release weekly. The first part is quite short as it sets the story up. Enjoy!

———————————————————————–

Katrina hated her roommate Ashley, she was a total bitch who constantly stole her expensive dresses and bags for her nights out. One evening, Katrina was watching TV, whilst Ashley was out in town, when an advert caught her attention, “Do you hate your friends?”, the announcer deviously began, “Well, why not sign them up for our new show ‘Bitch Revenge’, where they’ll get the treatment they deserve!” A phone number appeared on the screen and immediately Katrina grabbed her phone from the table and dialled the number. “Hello, you have reached the offices of ‘Bitch Revenge’, how can I help you?” said a young sounding girl
“Yes, I want to sign up my roommate Ashley, as she always steals from me!” Katrina replied
“Ok, sounds good, so on the show we will cover her in mountains of thick gunge, and loads of pies! Is that the kind of revenge you want?”
“Definitely! Awesome idea, so how are we gonna do it?” Katrina queried
“In the form of a quiz show, but the other contestants will be actresses who will make sure that Ashley comes stone-dead last and gets a sticky surprise” the girl answered
“Cool, when will this happen? I can’t wait!” Katrina asked
“I was thinking sometime next week, I’ll take both your phone number and Ashley’s if that’s fine with you and we’ll arrange a date” she responded
Without hesitation, Katrina gave the phone numbers to the girl and was told to expect a call tomorrow afternoon.

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.

Thanks for everyone’s feedback so far, it’s still welcome. Part 2 is a fair bit darker than anything I’ve written before, it contains some male WAM and humiliation so if you’re worried the description of a male getting messy might give you confusing thoughts, skip to part 3 in a week or so. As I’ve never written anything like this before, I’m especially keen for feedback from those who prefer this kind of content to that in part 1…

Part 2 – Mistaken Identity

The day after the game, Jo was feeling pretty pleased with herself, she could hold her head up high and walk around campus, telling herself she was captain of the champion five-a-side team. There was also no shortage of people patting her on the back and congratulating her either. For a moment she remembered what she’d had to do to avoid getting covered in slime after the match though – she’d had to give that Danny a blowjob. As she shuddered slightly at the thought, she also regretted the fact that she hadn’t really had any pleasure out of it – Danny’s inexpert hands on her breasts were something she tolerated rather than enjoyed. She then also thought back to how she’d ended up being more or less helpless during the gunge game as well; her fate had ended up entirely in Ruth’s hands.

Thankfully, she reflected, Ruth had chosen wrongly. The thought of her being not in control when she was a person who valued control so highly did actually turn her on in a kinky kind of way – she enjoyed having to be submissive, if only for a short time. With this thread started in her mind, she followed it and lamented that she hadn’t had sex in a few weeks.

However, that was something she wanted to put right. Running back over the events of the past few weeks, she suddenly thought of Geoff, the union president. He was tall, tanned, well built and pretty fit, she found herself thinking – and she’d seen him cast a few admiring glances her way while she sat in his office that day of the gunging announcement. Yes, she thought to herself, I think Geoff might be just the guy to sort out this craving I’ve got…

Jo sat down at the coffee shop on campus with a cappuccino, and pulled out a notepad and a pen from her bag. She wrote while sipping her coffee, and once she’d finished and was satisfied, she folded up the note, leaving the exterior unaddressed, and finished her coffee. Picking up her bag and walking out of the coffee shop, she made a beeline for the union building.

Poking her head round the door of the outer office, the receptionist was nowhere to be seen, perhaps on lunch, thought Jo. On the wall to the right of where she entered was a grid of mail pigeonholes. There were about twenty different names, and she started reading them, when she heard the outer door of the building slam. Realising rapidly someone was about to enter, she spotted in the top-left hand box a letter addressed to Geoff, so she rapidly threw the folded up square of paper into that pigeonhole, under a couple of other letters and started towards the door. She met the receptionist coming back into the building, and Jo gave the young woman a false smile before walking out and back home, blissfully unaware in her hurry she’d just placed the note in the mail pigeonhole designated for the RAG president, Danny.

As she walked home, she wondered why she couldn’t have just spoken to Geoff face-to-face, try to seduce him that way. She soon reinforced what she’d realised in the coffee shop – doing things in this clandestine way was much more thrilling to her, leaving a secret note, not taking her usual controlling attitude – he would surely leap at the offer of her, on a plate, for the taking. It also meant that no-one other than her and he would need to know any contact had even taken place in the first instance.

Tracy, the receptionist sat herself down at her desk and firing up her mail software, sent a couple of emails to her mates telling them how bored she was at work. Just as she was finishing the third one, the door to the office opened and in walked Danny.

“Hiya” smiled Danny to Tracy as she smiled back “Just come to get the mail”. Danny reached into his pigeonhole, and flicked through the letters there. “Look at that, someone’s given me something addressed to Geoff” said Danny, refiling the letter into the correct pigeonhole. As he flicked through the mail, the folded up note fell to the floor.

“What’s this?” said Danny as he bent down to pick it up. He started to read, and his eyes suddenly widened.

The receptionist noticed this and said, “What is it?” Danny hurriedly scrunched the note shut, looked back at Tracy with a guilty and slightly flushed look on his face, and replied carefully

“Nothing… nothing… I’d better go and write some reports, or something” Danny dived into the safety of his office and slammed the door shut.

Tracy rolled her eyes once he’d disappeared. “What a weirdo” was all she thought, before she went back to tapping out another email.

Danny, now in the safety of his office, threw the other letters onto his desk, and sat down heavily into his swivel chair. His hands shaking slightly, he opened the note and read it once again, just trying to see if his eyes had lied to him when he first read it:

Hey there Mr President,

I’ve always found you an incredibly sexy boy. I want you, nothing held back. Come to the ladies’ changing rooms tomorrow evening at 11pm, I’ll be waiting for you, and I promise I’ll give you a night you’ll never forget.

Jo x

Danny once again let the note drop onto his desk, his head was swimming, his stomach was tight, he just couldn’t believe it! This girl was really into him, it was too good to be true! He ecstatically realised that the liaison in the toilets on the day of the final was just the starter – the main course would be served very shortly! Danny walked out of the office with a spring in his step.

The following day, Danny couldn’t stop thinking about the note Jo had left him, he went through phases where he wondered if it could be a mistake or a joke – but he couldn’t exorcise the memory of what Jo had done for him before in that toilet cubicle, it had to be the real thing. That evening, Danny crept into the sports centre, they were just preparing to lock up, so he made an excuse with the staff on reception that he just wanted to go and pick up something he realised he’d left in the changing rooms.

He reached the girl’s changing rooms, and then hesitated – a million possibilities flashed before his mind – he couldn’t just walk in there, it’s a girl’s changing room! He could call out, but that might sound even more ridiculous if there were several people in there. Lost for a better course of action, all he could think of to do was knock on the door. He heard a voice from inside say “Come on in, Mr President”. Gently pushing open the door, he stepped inside, and as he rounded the corner in to the main changing area, he gasped softly to himself. His vision was graced by the naked rear view of a tall blonde girl standing just six feet away from him.

Jo had gotten to the changing rooms just five minutes ago, and stripped herself of all her clothes. She wanted to give a good show – again it added an extra thrill to the proceedings. As she stood naked, facing away from Geoff who’d just entered the changing rooms, she closed her eyes; wanting to let her other senses enjoy this experience. This was pleasure rather than business; it felt good to let someone else be in control for a change.

Danny started to say something “Jo…” but she interrupted him, saying, “Shhhhh, don’t say anything, just come up to me, and touch me”

Jo felt Geoff approach her, her skin tingled as she heard his footsteps grow nearer and gently she shivered with pleasure as his hand touched her bare shoulder. Rubbing it gently, he worked small circles across her shoulders and down her back as she kept her eyes closed and bit her lower lip, enjoying the sensual touch of this man.

Danny continued running his hands over her back, just feeling her warm body, willing and yielding beneath him. How long he’d dreamed about seeing Jo naked! Reaching up under her arms, Danny’s hands snaked round to the front of Jo to cradle her breasts, and caress her highly aroused nipples. Jo responded with a light moan of appreciation as he fondled those wonderful breasts of hers again.

Jo’s breath increased in pace as Geoff’s hands now cradled her breasts, stroking her nipples. There was something familiar about that touch, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. Grasping his hands in hers, and guiding his hands to massage her chest, she pulled him tight against her back, feeling with some satisfaction a large bulge down south pressing into the region of her bum. She gently held his hands as she moved them away from her breasts, and then she turned round, keeping her eyes closed. “Kiss me” she commanded lasciviously.

Danny’s penis hardened another notch at the sight of Jo’s incredible body once she turned round and gave him a full-frontal view. Starting from the tiles of the floor he drank in every inch of her naked skin – her long, smooth, firm legs, the blonde curls between her legs, her toned stomach, her curvy breasts which were heaving with every heavy breath she took, and finally her incredibly pretty face. As she said “Kiss me”, Danny leant in and pressed his lips to hers. She slipped her tongue into his mouth, and he kissed her back. As her tongue massaged his, Danny felt like he’d died and gone to heaven.

Jo pushed her tongue into Geoff’s mouth as his lips locked on to hers, and then slid her hands down his body to the back of his jeans and squeezed his bum with both hands, pulling him closer to her. The two shared this kiss for a good minute until she came up for air; damn, he was an even better kisser than she’d hoped for! Breaking the kiss, she pulled apart for a moment, holding Geoff’s hands. Now she felt she was ready to allow the missing sense to fill in the final part of this picture. “Oh, Geoff…” she said, stroking his hands and opening her eyes to look at him.

Jo’s stomach dropped when her eyes opened, and in front of her was standing not gorgeous fit Geoff, but the weedy little wanker Danny instead! Jo screamed in shock and took a step backwards. Danny’s eyes widened at this reaction from Jo, and confused said “Jo, it’s me, Danny, I came, like you asked”

Jo stared at him in horror and pushed him away, shouting hysterically “Danny? DANNY?! No, you’re not supposed to be here! What the fuck?! Get out, GET OUT! GO ON – PISS OFF! Little perv, fondling me like that!” Jo covered herself with her hands as best she could, she felt physically ill – she’d never allow herself to be seen naked let alone touched by such a loser as Danny. The mere thought of what might happen if anyone found out she’d stooped to the level of letting this happen made her head swim. Geoff, sure, but Danny?!

Danny tried to explain “Jo, I thought you wanted me… the note…”

It was no good – Jo was still hysterical – screaming at him “Just get out –GO ON! FUCK! OFF! How dare you lay your filthy hands on me?!”

Danny turned tail and ran, fast as he could, out of the changing rooms, out of the sports centre, and only stopped when he was halfway across campus. Hiding behind a tree and leaning with his back against it to catch his breath, he winced with embarrassment and confusion, screwing his face up. What happened? He could only ask himself – What the hell happened?

Jo, back in the shower, had hurriedly put all her clothes back on, still shuddering at the thought of the hands of that little twerp Danny roaming over her.  She threw her clothes on, absolutely raging at the fact that Danny had dared to even think about touching her, and wrenching the changing room door open so hard it banged against the opposite wall, she stomped off out of the sports centre and home.

The following morning Jo woke in the foulest of moods. She showered, she scrubbed and still she couldn’t get the feeling off that Danny had copped a good feel. She wouldn’t let this go unpunished, there was going to be hell to pay. She soon concocted a plan. Leaving another note in Danny’s pigeonhole, explicitly stating it was for him so there could be no misinterpretation, she arranged another meeting with the RAG president – ostensibly to apologise. It would again take place in the ladies’ changing rooms late at night…

***

Danny had ummed and ahhed about what to do after receiving Jo’s note. He was feeling extremely burnt by what had transpired the last time, but after a day of to-ing and fro-ing, in the end his curiosity got the better of him, and the promise of seeing Jo again galvanised him into resolving to meet her as asked. He rationalised, if she wanted to see him again, at worst he’ll get a chance to apologise for the misunderstanding, at best, maybe things might head down the road they’d gone down in the club and the toilets, who could say? Arriving feeling highly nervous, this time he made sure to knock on the changing room door.

After a short reply he heard Jo’s voice call “Danny, is that you?”

After a pause he responded “Yes”

“Oh good, please come in”, called Jo back.

He reluctantly pushed open the door, and cast his eyes around inside. Seeing no-one, he moved right inside the changing room several steps, letting the door close behind him.

The door swung shut, and he heard a voice behind him say “Here he is…” He jumped and whirled round to face the door, finding Sharon, Ruth, Wendy, and Linda standing across the door, blocking his exit.

Danny, his heart racing at the shock exclaimed “Girls! What the hell?!”

A familiar voice behind him cut in “Danny! So glad you could join us…”

Danny once more whirled round, his heart now pumping against his chest, his breath coming quickly at yet another shock. He turned, seeing Jo standing before him in her sports kit, arms folded, before she said simply: “Grab him, girls”.

The four girls set upon him in an instant, grabbing his arms and roughly leading him into the shower area.

“What…?! What’s going on, let go of me!” cried Danny at the four girls frogmarching him into the shower area. He struggled and tried to break free, but four against one was too much for Danny to do anything about – despite his attempts to break free from their grip.

Leading their captive to a chair placed in the middle of the showers, the girls pushed him into it. Danny tried to stand up, but Jo forcefully pushed him back down, and sat in his lap pinning him in position, while Linda and Sharon held him down by his shoulders, moving round to hold his arms behind him.

Danny struggled, saying “Get off me! What, Jo, what the hell’s going on?” He was trying to free his arms from the grip of Linda and Sharon but with the weight of Jo on top of him he just couldn’t move. He felt Linda’s grip withdraw from his right arm, so he tried to free his arm to push Jo off, but found he still couldn’t move his arm at all – Ruth had moved quickly and bound his wrist to the back of the chair. He struggled more feverishly at this and Wendy moved quickly, binding his other wrist to the back of the chair.

Now with both his hands tied behind his back, Danny renewed his struggling, bucking his hips and thrashing his legs to try and throw Jo off and free himself. But Ruth and Wendy moved with an equal speed to that which they displayed on the pitch, and holding his legs against the chair legs, bound those at the ankles too.

Danny now had all four limbs tied to the chair, and thrashed yet more in frustration, but to his rising panic discovered he now couldn’t move at all. Jo stood up from Danny’s lap and stepped back to admire the handiwork of the other four. “Good job girls” smiled Jo malevolently.

Danny cut in “Jo, tell me what the hell’s going on! Let me out of here now!”

Jo looked impassively back at Danny, and coolly replied “Danny… Danny, Danny, Danny… Let’s fill you in shall we? As if you don’t know what’s happening here…”

Danny continued to struggle, but his arms ached from being bound at an awkward angle, so he dropped into the chair, panting.

Jo continued “I told my four teammates here about what happened the other night”

Danny tried to start speaking, but Jo cut him off

“How you snuck into the showers here to molest me, put your filthy hands on me”

Danny immediately tried to respond, saying “But, it was a mistake, listen…”

This time Sharon cut him off, shaking her head and looking at him with rage, and raising her voice, shouted “You filthy piece of scum! Your type should be locked up, you little pervert!”

Danny looked at the five girls as they moved round in front of him, hatred and contempt flashing in their eyes – the sentiment made by Sharon was echoed by all five of them. There was something predatory about the way they moved, the primal look in their eyes, and he felt a pang of fear flash through him. They had him totally at their mercy, he couldn’t move.

Danny tried again to explain “Listen, this was all a mistake! It was a mistake, Jo, I’m sorry…!”

Jo moved behind him during this plea, and as she came back into his line of sight, he saw she was holding a roll of duct tape.

Danny started to plead now “Jo, I’m sorry, it was all a mistake, just…”

Pulling out a length of the tape off the roll, Jo simply said “You’re damn right it was a mistake, a mistake to mess with us. And by the time we’re finished with you – you’re goddamn right you’ll be sorry”

And she moved towards him holding the strip of tape. Danny thrashed his head around to try and get away from Jo, but two other pairs of hands grabbed his head and roughly held him still while Jo stuck the tape over his mouth, silencing his protestations down to only a muffled “mmmmph!” Danny really thrashed about now, his eyes wide open, as the panic finally rose all the way up and overtook him, and he screamed, he screamed as loud as his lungs would allow, thrashing violently about in the chair, but his bonds held fast. He screamed again, hoping, praying someone would hear him, but the tape over his mouth muffled the scream all too well. The girls stood in front of him, enjoying his panic and fear, as his eyes met theirs, pleading with them to let him go, but he saw no mercy in their eyes, only a cold hard stare.

Jo stood before Danny, with murder flashing in her bright blue eyes, and coldly stated “Now, time to teach you a lesson”.

The five girls moved around behind Danny, he tried to move his head to see what they were doing behind him, still letting out desparate cries in protest. Due to his bonds he couldn’t turn to see what was going on behind him.

Jo’s voice from behind him said “Would you just stop your snivelling, and take it like a man!”

Danny’s mind raced, thoughts of what the hell was going to happen to him – he was tied, helpless to a chair, trapped in the ladies showers with five psycho women who were about to do God knows what to him. The look in their eyes, they were out to hurt him, of that he had no doubt.

Cowering, he scrunched his eyes shut as he heard someone move in front of him, and braced himself for whenever the first blow was going to come. Seconds later, there was an impact with his face.

However, what hit his face was not a fist or a weapon, but instead had a softer texture.

He opened his eyes, and found he couldn’t see a single thing. As he panicked and thrashed about yet more against his bonds, his sight was suddenly restored.

Jo peeled away the paper plate on which the chocolate gateau she had pushed into his face had sat. Danny looked at Jo in puzzlement, she hadn’t hit him – she’d just… pushed a cake into his face…?

Jo only stared contemptuously at him and he stared back, taking a moment to figure out what the hell was going on.

Suddenly, he felt a cool liquid hit the top of his head and start to flow down his forehead. He caught a whiff of chocolate before he had to close his eyes as the chocolate syrup Linda was pouring over his head flowed over them, down over the tape covering his mouth, off his chin and down his body. Some flowed inside his T-shirt and he shuddered at the unpleasant sensation. While he was preoccupied with the gooey chocolate flowing slowly down him; causing him to squirm against his bonds, next up came Sharon with a bucket, and this she wasted no time upending over his head once more.

Danny let out another shudder, as the substance that fell over his head was cold and lumpy. The baked beans in the bucket fell in a torrent over him, leaving lumps sticking to every part of his head, and all down his chest. Again, the beans worked their way inside his shirt, and this time he shuddered more violently, as the squishy mess felt disgusting against his bare skin. He once again let some more muffled protestations out and again struggled against his bonds, but now the ropes were starting to cut into his wrists and ankles. His muscles also ached, and so after a couple of seconds of straining vainly he flopped back down into the mess on the chair, spent for the moment.

Jo surveyed him with a malevolent smile and said “That’s it – I wouldn’t struggle if I was you – it’ll just make the mess move a bit further down your body anyway. Speaking of which…” she said, moving round behind him again.

Danny was realising the futility of his struggle, and exhausted from the last attempt to loosen his bonds; he hung his head down, despairing, he felt ashamed and humiliated, tied to this chair with food covering most of him, especially as he was not able to explain himself.

Jo then leant back over the figure of Danny brandishing a pair of scissors. Danny flinched at the sight of them, and Jo passed them over the collar of his T-shirt, and started to cut. Danny didn’t dare struggle for fear of the scissors stabbing him. After snipping her way to the bottom of the shirt, Jo pulled it open and Danny blushed as his bare torso was revealed, with mixed chocolate and beans running down it.

The hot little ball of shame and embarrassment in Danny’s stomach started to grow at the helplessness of his situation, and now being more exposed. He felt tears starting to well up in his eyes, and began to emit loud sobs. Hot tears of humiliation began to stream down his cheeks, as the girls stood and enjoyed his fate.

Well, four of them did. Linda stood behind Danny, and as she heard his sobs start, she suddenly felt ashamed of what she and the other four had done. Unable to stand by and do nothing she spoke up and appealed to Jo

“Look Jo, maybe this has gone far enough. Untie him”

The other three looked to Jo, their captain, and Jo just looked at Danny, sobbing in the chair, and with an evil smile said

“Not a fucking chance, I’m not finished with this dirty little shit yet”

Sharon, Ruth and Wendy rushed to the cache containing their ammunition and all three picked up a bowl of rice pudding, the contents of each they threw at Danny from in front, while he could only hang his head down in shame. The lumpy mess felt horrible against his bare chest, and Jo moved up to him and tauntingly spread it around on his chest while he squirmed. Having this girl stroke his chest would have been a dream come true mere hours ago, now it was a waking nightmare.

Jo once again went for the scissors, and this time cut down both side of Danny’s trousers, before pulling them off, leaving him clad only in his boxers.

Linda once again protested, this time really worried things were getting out of hand – Jo had had her revenge, Danny was clearly very sorry, there was no need to continue

“Jo! You’ve had your revenge, now stop!” Linda moved in front of Jo, physically interjecting herself between Jo and her victim.

“I’m not finished, get the hell out of my way” spat Jo, shoving Linda out of her way.

Linda fell to the floor, landing hard on the unforgiving tiles of the shower floor. Jo moved to the accumulation of culinary weaponry, wanting to administer a bit of punishment personally. She selected a bowl into which tinned spaghetti in tomato sauce had been emptied, and moved round in front of Danny.

Pulling open the front of his boxer shorts she quickly emptied the spaghetti inside, letting the elastic waistband snap back into place. Danny let out another moan as the stringy mess and cold goo invaded his most private area, it was cold and clammy and nestling unpleasantly in some very intimate places. Jo moved up to Danny’s head, loving every second of his humiliation, and lifting his chin with her hand to look into his eyes, tears still streaming out, said

“Let’s finish the job, shall we?”

With that she finally put the scissors to use on his boxers shorts, pulling the final scrap of clothing he was wearing off of him. She held the stricken underclothes in the air triumphantly, and she whirled round to taunt Linda with them. To her surprise though, where Linda had hit the floor a few moments ago, she was there no longer. A sharp bang of the changing room door indicated her departure. Sharon, Ruth and Wendy started to move to give chase, but Jo held up her hand, and said “Leave her, she won’t be back. Anyway, we’ve still got our boy-toy to play with here, haven’t we?”

Danny sat and regressed into something of a daze – a broken and defeated man, still sobbing and crying, while the girls emptied the rest of the food over his now naked body. He tried to shut out their tauntings, particularly some very cruel comments about the size, or lack thereof of his penis. Covered in rice pudding, spaghetti, beans, and chocolate, Danny shut his eyes and wished this torture would end.

The end finally came as Jo poured a bucket of cold gravy over his head, which felt particularly disgusting as well as smelling awful. Danny kept his eyes closed and cried, as Jo stepped up to him and ripped the tape off of his mouth. Danny let in a sharp breath as he was finally able to breathe properly again.

“Well?” demanded Jo – “What do you have to say for yourself?!” Danny opened his eyes, blinking the gravy as well as the assorted other disgusting muck out of them and looked towards the floor, still crying, and couldn’t bring himself to say a word, so complete was his shame and humiliation.

“Nothing? Well, we’ll leave him for the cleaners to find in the morning, let’s go girls” stated Jo, finally. As they started out, Jo turned back towards the stricken Danny, and coldly addressed him –

“Remember, Danny, get in my way, and be trodden on”. She finally turned and strode out of the changing room flanked by the other three, turning off the light as she left, plunging the changing room into darkness.

Danny sat there sobbing to himself – he had no idea Jo could be as inhuman as to torture him by tying him up, humiliating him, covering him in food, and leaving him a shivering, snivelling, sobbing wreck.

It had been a mistake what had happened that other night when he touched her, but no-one even gave him a moment to explain himself. He once again struggled and let out a little scream in frustration when he couldn’t move an inch. His stomach dropped when he realised his humiliation would not be limited to the five girls in the team, but whoever first came into the changing rooms in the morning would find him right here, naked and covered in goo.

After what felt like hours, he saw a light come from the changing area as the door opened, and a silhouette crept in.

“Who’s there?!” he nervously asked into the darkness.

“It’s OK” said a soft voice soothingly, as the voice moved behind him, and he felt his hands being untied.

He recognised the voice, and “Linda?” he asked, as she freed his arms and he moved them to get the blood flowing again – rubbing his wrists where the ropes had cut into his skin.

“Yeah” she replied plainly. Linda was nervous – it had taken a lot of courage for her to go back into the changing room, she knew Danny had every reason to hate her for her part in what’d transpired tonight, and for all she knew he might lash out at her, but after she saw the other four leaving, she wanted to check if he was in there and free him if he was – she couldn’t let them leave him there, she’d take her chances with how grateful (or not) he might be.

She trembled slightly as she undid the bonds on his ankles, and he stood slowly, still dripping assorted mess off of his naked body, his hand covering his private parts as their eyes accustomed to the darkness, allowing the two to make out the faint shape of one another.

There was silence for about 30 seconds, and Linda hung her head, any minute expecting Danny to swing for her, or at least shout at her.

After this time, Danny slowly asked “Why… why did you come back?”

“I’m sorry…” she said, he could hear her voice quavering, as she fought back tears “I feel terrible, I had to come back and do the right thing, I couldn’t let them leave you here”

Danny wiped his tears from his cheeks. Despite his emotional state, he hadn’t forgotten that Linda had tried to protect him; she’d tried to stop Jo from wreaking her revenge.

“I’m so sorry!” Linda burst out, as she started to cry “Jo told us all what you’d done, but I knew it was all a misunderstanding! I didn’t believe you could do something like that” she sobbed “I never ever should have been a part of that, tying you up and all that”

Danny breathed heavily, just considering what to do, what on Earth to say. In the dark the only noise was Linda’s crying and Danny’s breathing.

After a moment, Danny said gently “Linda… please… stop crying… I… forgive you” and promptly he restarted crying.

Linda heard his great sobs, and looking at his shape in the darkness, she realised, poor bloke, he’s been through so much this evening, let’s save this conversation for another time. Blinking back her tears Linda, laughing while she fought back the waves of emotion colliding inside her said

“Look at both of us – we’ll do no good standing here crying all night”

Danny, looked up, and laughed. Linda sniffed again, and said “Look, I left a bag by the door, there’s a T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms in there, so you’ve got something to wear til you get home.”

Danny sniffed too, and wiped away his tears, starting to calm down

“You gonna be alright?” asked Linda as kindly as she could

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so” replied Danny as he started to compose himself. This girl had bailed him out, when he needed someone the most, she’d come back to save him being there all night.

“I’ll leave you to get cleaned up then” said Linda, as she walked back towards the door. She placed her hand on the handle and was about to open it when

“Linda…” called Danny softly.

“Yes?” whispered Linda.

Danny paused “…thanks” he said, feeling completely overwhelmed by the evening’s events. Linda stepped out of the changing room – it was now past midnight. She let the door close, blew her nose and wiped her eyes before starting the walk back to her room.

The segment opens with Sian standing in front of the Mucky Dip with the chair stationed beside her.

Sian: Hello again! You’re watching Comeuppance with me, Sian Welby! Tonight we have three stardom-seekers facing your very critical appraisal. Fashion vlogger Princess Prinscilla, not heavy metaller Veronica Pleasance, and mootable mystic Claire Voyant – all of them are chasing their fifteen minutes of fame, but who will be flung into fifteen feet of filth? The midway voting scores should give us an idea!

Sian strolls over to the cages.

Sian: Ladies, I have those all-important scores here. Claire, what percentage are you on?

Claire: [shrugs] How should I know?

Sian: Because, duh, you have psychic powers, right?

Claire: Oh right. Yes… well… it’s a number.

The audience bursts into laughter.

Claire: Errr, a number between zero and one hundred! [Sways her head to the right] It might be even. [Sways her head to the left] But it could be odd.

The audience jeers.

Sian: Blimey! Worth taking to a casino, aren’t you?

Claire: [crossly] I told you, the ambience is wrong! This cage – it’s channelling too much negative energy. You’ll have to let me out!

Sian: [laughing] You’ve gotta be joking! Well, seeing as Claire hasn’t got a clue, and I don’t suppose you two do either, I’m going to let you all sweat it out while we reveal tonight’s punishment. So without further ado…

The camera sweeps out over the audience.

Audience: LET’S PREVIEW THE GOO!!

The scene switches to the overhead camera, slowing rotating as it homes in on the circular opening of the Mucky Dip. Tonight’s muck is mainly a dirty off-white, criss-crossed with straight lines of green, blue, pink and yellow. In the corner of the screen, a box cycles through the reactions of the contestants. Even Veronica, trying to look rock-and-roll about it all, betrays a nervous disposition as the greyish-white mess looms large on the screen.

The scene switches to the rim-side camera. Undulating in snowdrifts, the gunk has a frothy, fibrous texture about it, like marshmallow fluff. For sure it is very sticky, sloping up the inner wall of the vat in a heavy layer. The coloured lines have a gooier, slightly translucent appearance.

Sian: Oooo, what an interesting one we have here! Almost looks like a confection, but don’t be fooled; it’s anything but sweet! Ladies, I hope you like Stilton and pickled onions, because that’s what it reeks of! Yeuuchh!! [screws up her face]

The caged women don’t look too amused by this information.

Sian: Oh they don’t like that, do they? Let’s see what they think of the voting figures. Here they come!

The audience cheers. Veronica raises her hands in a double devil-horns. Claire allows herself a small smile as she serenely runs a hand through her hair. The colour drains from Priscilla’s already pale features.

Priscilla: [in a weak voice] Is it too late to back out of this?

Sian: [walks over to Priscilla’s cage and stands smugly at the door] What’s the matter, oh Princess? Suddenly not so keen to have your mug on TV? Got cold feet? They’ll be even colder when you plunge into that muck, as will the rest of you!

Priscella leans forward in the cage with her head in her hands.

Sian: [strolling forwards again] Needless to say, it’s far too late for Priscilla or indeed our other candidates to back out, but there’s still plenty of voting time to go, and it’s possible things could change. After all, we still have the personal appeals to do. Ladies, you each have fifteen seconds to look into that camera and tell the viewers at home why you shouldn’t be dunked on your national telly debut. Veronica, as you’re in last place, you go first. Take it away.

Veronica opens her mouth and proceeds to growl, in a decidedly unladylike octave, sounding somewhere between the wind whistling in a haunted woodland and an ogre with a chronic stomach ulcer.

Veronica: Ggggggrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu…

The scene switches to various bemused people in the audience.

Veronica:…uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu….

The scene switches to Sian, frowning and mouthing something to an off-shot crew member, before switching back to Veronica.

Veronica:…uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu—

The Klaxon bellows.

The audience look at each other confused for a few more moments, then remember they are supposed to boo.

Sian: Do you want some indigestion tablets, Veronica? Have you swallowed something that disagrees with you? Such as a small demon?

Veronica: [sweetly] I expressed everything I wanted to express.

Sian: I daren’t imagine what sound you’ll make if you actually go in the dip! Claire, maybe you’ll give us something less nonsensical, [mutters] though I wouldn’t put money on it. Your fifteen seconds start now.

Claire: [in a wishy-washy voice] I’m an Aquarian. You may think this bodes ill concerning wet things, but with the Moon aligned with Mars, and Sagittarius taking aim at Uranus, and Donald Trump rising in the west, it’s possibly certain that I’ll avoid—

The buzzer honks. The audience boos.

Sian: [sighing] I didn’t hold out much hope. Which brings us to Priscilla. Now sweetie, if you want that frock to stay remotely red, you better work some real charm here.

Priscilla: [looking anxious] This isn’t fair! I don’t disturb the peace like Veronica, nor con the gullible like Claire! I’m just a down-to-earth Derry girl – albeit with exquisite eyelashes and superior dress-sense. Your go-to guru for impeccable styl—

The Klaxon trumpets. Booing resounds to the rafters.

Sian: Hmmm. You haven’t really got this modesty thing sorted out, have you Princess?

Sian turns away, leaving Priscilla looking distraught.

Sian: And that concludes this segment. As things stand, Princess Priscilla is all set for a makeover she’ll never forget! But if you want to cut the kid some slack, you’ve got some voting to do! It’s a huge lead to overturn, but anything can happen on Comeuppance, and it’s you the public that makes it happen. Laters!

Good evening all,

I’m delighted to announce that after a three year absence, the Gunge Grand Prix is back! The ultimate fantasy female gunging competition returns, with 512 competitors, but only one victim, as chosen by you!

For those of you unfamiliar with the gunge grand prix, previously run by pml89, allow me to give you a quick rundown. Essentially, readers of TellyGunge would nominate 512 female celebrities who would be subjected to a series of head to head votes, with the winner ultimately ‘facing’ a famous gungey punishment from a famous TV show (GYOB, Noel’s House Party, Hangar 17 etc), also chosen by readers. Once the winner and judgement had been determined, readers would be invited to submit their stories, with the winning story being posted on the site.

The 2016 version will follow largely the same format, though in a slightly different order. Instead of the judgement being decided prior to the opening of nominations, the judgement will not be decided until the winner has been revealed.

Therefore, I am pleased to announce that nominations for the 2016 Gunge Grand Prix are now open! Please comment below with your nominations, bearing in mind the following rules:

1. The nominee must be female and ‘well known’. By that I mean that I don’t need to go to page 37 on Google to find out who they are.
2. The nominee must be at least 18 years old as of 1st April 2016. As such, each nominee is taken as being such age on that date, and the associated looks (with leeway for such things as pregnancy/accidents).
3. Each person may nominate up to 10 people per day (ie. 24 hour periods starting at midnight). Failure to follow this rule may result in nomination rights removed. (Also note that Tellygunge or myself may check for sockpuppetry, which is against site rules anyway, and this will result as a violation of this rule).
4. People may nominate until the ajudicator (me) says they have reached the total of 512 names (although I shall keep you informed of how many names have been nominated so far via my twitter account @phd2207).
5. Upon the checking process, any repeats at that stage will be changed by the ajudicator. The list will then be double checked by a willing admin (TG, wanna volunteer for that task?).
6. Pictures will be collected by the ajudicator, aiming to be as fair and unbiased as possible. You will be informed when this process is complete.

That is all for now. Please get commenting with your nominations and I will try to update once a day with numbers so far via my twitter account @phd2207.

I am open to any suggestions for improving the competition, so if anyone has any ideas, please do feel free to comment, tweet or email me at custardshoots@gmail.com

Thanks