Given that DBP has been announcing the imminent return of GYOB for some years now, I’m rather sceptical about this. But all the same, this is a very promising article from the Daily Mirror.

It was one of the most popular children’s shows of the 1990s, adored by kids, dreaded by grown-ups. Get Your Own Back had a simple but brilliant concept: children would compete for the chance to get revenge on an annoying adult – usually a parent or teacher – by throwing them into a huge tank of ‘gunge’. And at the centre of it all, with his loud voice and even louder shirts, was wacky host Dave Benson Phillips.

More than a decade has passed since the show last aired, but now it is set for a return to our screens. “Negotiations are ongoing, but we hope to start filming in the autumn,” Mr Benson Phillips, 51, told the Mirror.

But there’s a controversial twist: those wanting to gunge their dad or older brother need not apply, as only female grown-ups will be eligible. Feminists have expressed outrage at the plans, but Benson Phillips claims the rule is necessary to redress imbalances from the original show. Over 80 percent of those gunged were male, and there were two entire series that had only one female gunging each. Many women escaped the gunge, including some seriously hot sisters and babysitters.

“We had a problem with male contestants playing the ‘white knight’ and deliberately losing the game, so as to spare their female competitor the indignity,” admitted Benson Phillips. “It didn’t help that the producer was a massive homo and I think he had a thing for seeing men get gunged. I lobbied hard behind the scenes to get Lisa Brockwell in the tank, but he preferred Mr Blobby. Weirdo.”

Dave is upbeat about the prospects of the show’s return. “I hope that the all-female slant will boost popularity with a certain audience. I’ve learned through my Twitter interactions that a majority of people prefer to see women gunged, and I can see the appeal myself. I’d love to get the wife above the Gunk Dunk one of these days.”

The BBC, the original producer, and Mrs Benson Phillips declined to comment.

You can read more here.

So here’s part 3. This part contains a fair dollop of plot but maybe not as much WAM as previous chapters. It’s almost like I’m trying to build up to something that might make up for it later…

Halstow Ladies part 3 – Taking the Armband

Three days after the game – the Halstow Ladies five-a-side team were called into the union president’s office for a meeting at 3pm that very day. When Linda arrived, Ruth, Sharon and Wendy were already sat outside the office despite Linda having arrived 5 minutes early. Linda said nothing to the other three, who shared an uneasy hello with her, all four were acutely aware of what had transpired the last time they’d all been together – the ritual stripping, gunging and humiliation of Danny. Linda had initially been complicit in the revenge but once it had become clear to her that Jo’s retribution was disproportionate, she’d left, choking back tears, and waited out of sight, planning to go back for Danny once Jo had finished. Her rage at her teammates felt so hot it might cause the air around her to combust, but her train of thought brought her to the realisation they were only so cowed by Jo that they didn’t have the courage to stand up to her in the way that Linda herself had. She was about to speak up to the other three to give them a piece of her mind when Tracy, Geoff’s secretary said across the room to the girls:

“He won’t be a minute, go in and sit down”

Entering his comfortable office the girls sat down – Linda’s planned bollocking of the other three would have to wait.

There had been no sign of Jo to this point, and the girls were starting to wonder where she was. After a minute the door behind them opened and Robert – the head of sports came in along with Geoff and started talking to them.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Jo?” asked Ruth.

“Well, actually, it’s about that that I’d like to speak to you” replied Robert. “We received some… troubling news. You see, it’s been discovered that Jo took a bribe from Durham to throw the final”

The four girls reacted with shock, despite how badly Jo had treated them they’d always been a team, the word that flashed through their minds like a lightning bolt was betrayal. Linda’s mind flashed back to that training session before the big final – Jo had left early, why? Scattered memories flashed through her mind – then the big game, and the header that Jo made in the dying minutes that drove the ball towards their own goal. It hadn’t been an accident, had it? She’d deliberately tried to score an own goal to throw the game, to avoid being gunged! And not only to avoid being gunged for charity, she had taken a bribe to do it! But Linda had not only stopped the shot, she’d ended up scored the winning goal! She suddenly felt light-headed, this was a bit much for her to take in.

“…Linda, are you alright?” said Robert.

Linda was jolted back to reality. Her head swimming she fought to bring herself back to the room. She exhaled deeply and said

“Sorry, please carry on”.

Robert continued “So as I was saying… Jo has been dismissed from the team and in fact has been ejected from this very university, she won’t be coming back. So now we need a new captain… We’re going to hold a vote for this new captain amongst the union board members, to be chosen from you four girls, next week, so we’ll announce that in a week’s time”

The four girls stepped out of the union building into the daylight, and all looked at each other. Sharon spoke first

“So one of us will be the new captain?”

“Forget about that” snapped Linda “Let’s talk about what happened in those showers – what happened to poor Danny?! Jo, well, she’s proven she’s capable of some pretty low things…”

Ruth started to say “Listen, Linda, hain…”

“No! Bollocks!” spat Linda “It was clear early on that Danny was sorry, there had obviously been a mistake and Jo was hell-bent on humiliating that poor sod! All three of you know that! You know Jo, you *knew* she was lying, you’re just too spineless to stand up to her!”

Linda was having to fight to not burst into hot tears of anger. With a huge lump in her throat, she swallowed, and glared at the three other girls who were staring at the ground, ashamed. She let out a loud grunt of frustration, and stomped off.

Ruth, Sharon and Wendy looked at one another, but didn’t speak a word. Linda had been right, of course, but they were too ashamed to admit it.

***

The day after this announcement, Linda was lounging around her house. She didn’t have any lectures at all that day so had been vegged out in the lounge in just her pyjamas watching daytime TV. Ever since the announcement by the head of sport, she’d known deep down she wanted so badly to be captain; she felt she had so much to give to the team, she was dedicated and enthusiastic. She also felt she could be the one to remove the taint left on the team by Jo’s bordering-on-brutal leadership, not to mention the final mark of corruption the discovery of the bribe had introduced. Pushing thoughts of the vote to the back of her mind, not wanting to stress over it for the entire week, she decided to make herself some lunch.

Before lunch she decided maybe she should finally put some clothes on, and so brushed her teeth and jumped into the shower to wash herself. After washing herself off, she stepped out of the steaming shower and wrapped herself in a towel, then after drying herself off, wrapped her hair in a towel and put on her dressing gown to get dressed. As she walked from the bathroom to her bedroom, the doorbell rang, stopping her mid-step. She paused for a second – she wasn’t expecting any visitors, so wasn’t sure whether to answer it. She hesitated for a moment, weighing up the possibilities, but curiosity got the better of her, and tightening the cord holding her dressing gown closed, she stepped up to the door, and opened it.

Standing on the doorstep was the slightly embarrassed figure of Danny, who blushed at the sight of Linda in her dressing gown, and in his hands he held an enormous bouquet of flowers. Linda’s eyes opened wide, and she exclaimed with surprise “Danny!” Danny shuffled on his feet nervously – it’d taken him a lot of courage to buy the flowers; walk through town clutching them feeling about as far from inconspicuous as could be; then come here and actually ring Linda’s doorbell, and this wasn’t how he’d expected it to go.

“Er… hi” he volunteered, smirking embarrassedly “I just wanted to come round and bring you these, I really wanted to say thank you for… you know, the other night…” He blushed again at the thought, he’d been sat tied to that chair naked, a broken man, covered in all kinds of foodstuffs, and Linda had come back to free him.

He proffered the flowers which Linda took with a shy but grateful smile, saying “Aw Danny, this is so sweet of you, thank you so much!”

Danny quickly remembered himself, seeing Linda standing there not fully up and dressed yet, and cut in “But, this obviously isn’t a good time, I’d better go” and he made to leave, but Linda quickly stopped him

“No! …I mean, it’s OK”

Danny stopped and Linda continued

“Please, come in, have a cup of tea, it’s the least I can do after you’ve brought me these. God, look at the state of me – I’ll just get dressed; I’ll only be a few minutes”

Linda stepped back to allow Danny to enter and shut the door, before placing the flowers into the sink in the kitchen and showing Danny into the lounge. “Make yourself at home, I won’t be long”

Danny sat in the lounge and made himself comfortable on the sofa while Linda walked up to her room, closed the door, and leant against it, pushing her back against it with her hands to her face, and allowed an excited little shiver of glee to take her.

She grinned to herself – Danny, that wonderful guy she’d had her eye on for such a long time,  had brought her flowers! How sweet of him! Right; she thought – time to make myself look beautiful and sweep him off his feet.

The tracksuit bottoms and baggy T-shirt she’d been planning on wearing were sitting on the bed, those would never do, so she tossed these to the floor and started pulling out drawers, looking for something pretty to wear for Danny. Every option she tried and those she didn’t like she threw over her head, scattering rejected choices across the floor.

After a minute she’d found the underwear she wanted, a simple black lace matching bra and panty set which she put on. Admiring herself in the mirror, she struck a glamour pose, one hand on her hip, the other behind her head, wiggling her hips and blowing a kiss to herself in the mirror. She giggled to herself as the thought struck her to go downstairs wearing just this sexy black lingerie, but she mentally shook her head and looked for something to put on over the underwear.

Throwing more clothes out on to the floor from her drawers, she settled on a figure-hugging black T-shirt which showed off her figure, her ample chest and toned tummy; and a pair of blue jeans. Admiring herself in the mirror, and seeming pleased with the results, she went downstairs to greet Danny. Danny was sitting on her sofa, waiting patiently for her.

“Hi!” she smiled as she stepped into the lounge “Sorry about that”.

Danny smiled, his initial embarrassment gone, and said “Wow, you look really nice”

Linda blushed and shyly said “Thanks – it’s nothing special”

The two of them looked at each other for a second before both looking away, blushing again.

Breaking the awkward moment Linda moved towards the kitchen and said “Thank you so much for the flowers, they’re gorgeous – I love them”

Danny looked back into her eyes and smiled happily, saying “It was my pleasure”

Linda then made two mugs of steaming hot tea, and bringing them in, she plopped down on the sofa next to Danny, turning to face him with her legs crossed under her. The two of them chatted over the tea, both shyly enjoying the pleasure of one another’s company, talking about the usual idle small talk unfamiliar people make a staple of.

After they finished the tea, Danny said “Well, thanks for the tea… I guess I’d better go”

Linda, much like at the door, again didn’t want to let Danny leave, and so quickly suggested “No, you don’t have to – I don’t have anything on today, so why don’t we go out and grab some lunch or something?”. She didn’t mind eating another lunch if it meant spending more time with Danny.

Danny quickly accepted, he didn’t have anything on today either, and was incredibly flattered that Linda would want to spend time one-to-one with him.

The two left Linda’s house and headed for a pub just down the road. Ordering some food, they sat down and chatted as they ate.

After lunch, Danny offered Linda another drink, and she accepted, happy to remain in the company of the guy she’d been eyeing up. Loosened up by a bit of alcohol, Linda indicated the pool table in one corner of the pub, and said

“How about a game?”

Danny accepted, and while he racked up the balls, Linda grinned slyly at Danny and said

“How about we make this interesting; loser buys the winner a drink?”

Danny said “Sure, why not”

As the two played, it soon became clear to Danny that Linda hadn’t played pool much – she was tapping the balls around and occasionally completely miscuing the cue ball, giving away all kinds of fouls, only managing to pot two balls mostly by accident. Danny did enjoy one particular moment when Linda leant over the table for a long shot right in front of him, bending right over and thrusting her bum in her jeans right towards him.

This was a blatant trick on the part of Linda to flirt shamelessly with Danny and maybe try and throw him off his game; she could only imagine his face as she was sure he was enjoying the view. Soon, Danny had potted all of his balls apart from the black, and Linda still had five of her own left on the table.

Danny thought he ought to at least give Linda a chance to reduce his lead, so deliberately fluffed a shot on the black in order to line the cue ball up with one of Linda’s and the pocket.

Linda said “Ooooh – maybe I can pot this one”, and as she lined up for the shot, suddenly her entire posture changed, her hands, whereas unfocussed and limp before, suddenly became rock solid and stable, gently gripping the cue as if it had become just a natural extension of her body. Striking firmly, she potted this ball, perfectly placing the cue ball for the next ball, which she also potted with no effort. This continued; her sinking all five of her balls in one break, and finally the black as well, to win the game.

Danny only stood slack jawed at Linda’s sudden turnaround in ability – he realised this could mean only one thing.

Linda walked up to him and giggling, said “Well, looks like the drinks are on you then”, thrusting the pool cue into his hands.

Danny looked back at her, and his face breaking into a grin, said “You played me, didn’t you? You were just toying with me…”

Linda, her back to him, called over her shoulder “Mine’s a large vodka and orange please”

Danny put down the cue, and smiling to himself, shaking his head, went to get the drinks.

Sitting back down, the couple giggled as they relaxed into conversation, and over the course of the next few hours, and several more rounds of drinks, they chatted happily, discovering they had a lot more in common than they’d realised.

When Linda had quizzed Danny on his hobbies, rather than the geek stereotypical answers she’d expected, check them off… Star Trek, the internet, blah blah blah – she discovered he was a talkative and interesting person – and they both shared a common interest in ancient civilisations, the Egyptians and their culture and beliefs being a particular focal point for both of them.

After several hours and a large accumulation of glasses on the table, the two decided they should probably head back home. Danny walked Linda back to her door through the darkness; the two still chatting and stepping slightly unsteadily back up the road. When Linda tripped over a small stone in the road and Danny caught her, Linda descended into fits of giggles, a quivering mass of helpless jelly in Danny’s arms while her infectious laughter made Danny giggle like a kid as well.

“Come on, let get you home”, laughed Danny. Reaching the front door of Linda’s house, Linda fumbled for her keys, and getting them in the lock, she turned back to Danny, who had stopped and stood a couple of feet from her door, she said to him

“Thank you for a really lovely day, I enjoyed every minute of it”

Danny blushed and smiled gratifyingly, and replied “Yeah, it was so nice, hopefully we can do it again soon”

Linda smiled and replied  “Definitely! Oh… and thank you again, for the flowers” with this she walked back to him, and placing her hands on his shoulders, stood on tiptoe and placed a small kiss on his cheek. Danny felt a jolt of electricity shoot through him as her lips touched his face, and had it not been so dark he felt sure his face would have been a crimson beacon visible for miles. Linda walked back to her door, and turning the key in the lock, stepped inside “Goodnight” she called, as Danny waved from where he stood, and said “G’night!” He turned and started walking away as she shut the door, his mind racing. He waited until he was out of sight of her house to shake his fists in the air triumphantly and whisper “yeeeeeesssss!” to himself, grinning as he returned home.

***

Over the following couple of days, Danny and Linda saw each other frequently, on average every other day, sometimes just hanging out round each other’s houses, or up on campus, sometimes going to the cinema. A relationship was slowly but steadily starting to bloom between the two of them; Danny remembered their first cinema trip together especially vividly – they’d gone to watch a soppy romcom, and ten minutes in, she’d grabbed his arm and gently draped it round her shoulder. Taking the hint, he pulled her close, and she leant her head on his shoulder for the remainder of the film. He remembered how enchanted he’d been by the scent of her hair, the smell of her floral shampoo brought to his nose as she draped her hair over his shoulder. That evening after the film had finished and he’d walked her home, he leant in to kiss her, going to kiss her on the lips, but she turned her head and took it on the cheek instead. Danny was a little disappointed, but she smiled at him, and because of the look in her eyes, sympathetic but affectionate; he immediately understand – let’s take it slow, one step at a time.

One weekday morning a few days later, he received a text message from Linda, saying “New captain announced midday – meet me at the union building 11.45”. He met her in the reception, finding her a little bit nervous, but he reassured her, saying whatever happened, she shouldn’t worry. Walking upstairs to the head of sports’ office, Linda and Danny found the three other remaining members of the team sitting outside, looking just as nervous. At the sight of Danny with Linda, the three girls immediately looked shocked and stared at the floor – they hadn’t seen him since the night in the showers, and all still felt the shame of what Jo had driven them to do – now without Jo’s corrupting influence the three of them had vowed to never let themselves be led on any longer. The penitent silence of the three girls was soon broken by the office door opening and the head of sports calling for the four girls to enter. Squeezing Danny’s hand – she let go and walked into the office with the other three.

Danny fought back the urge to listen at the door, but held back and mentally willed Linda on, he knew how badly she wanted this. After 5 agonising minutes, a little excited squeal was emitted from the inside of the office and the hairs on the back of Danny’s neck stood up. The door suddenly opened and out rushed Linda, who without a moment’s hesitation leapt into Danny’s arms, wrapped her legs around his torso, flung her arms round his neck and sweetly brought her lips to his, kissing him hotly. Danny nearly lost his balance and fell backwards but stepped back to steadily himself and hold Linda, and fell into the kiss, delighted, wrapping his arms gently round her waist, relaxing and kissing her back, his stomach having sunk to about the level of his knees. After what felt like an eternity their lips parted, Linda keeping her arms around his neck, both of them breathing deeply. Danny gently lowered Linda to the ground, and could only pant

“So, I guess this means you got it, right?”

Linda smiled at him, panting herself, and enthusiastically nodded, before pressing her lips back to him for another kiss, the two young lovers embracing each other tightly. Linda had held back on rushing into a relationship, not wanting to go too far, too fast, but that rush of ecstasy she’d experienced on being told she’d made captain had suddenly made the moment just seem right.

The other three girls exited the office and congratulated Linda, in turn hugging her and clapping her on the back, they’d all individually hoped that if it wasn’t themself, they’d rather if anyone else it would be Linda. Danny told Linda he’d wait for her outside, letting her enjoy her moment.

After a few minutes Linda came out of the building and taking Danny’s hand said

“So, where to now?”

“Anywhere you want to go Mademoiselle Captain” smiled Danny back “Do you want to go for a drink to celebrate?”

Linda giggled giddily – “Yeah, let’s go to that pub in town”, so off they started to head from the campus which was atop a hill, down the hill to the centre of the historic town of Halstow. Heading across campus they passed the library and the coffee shop to the green fields of the rugby pitches. Well, most of the time they were green. Days of heavy spring rain and a big local varsity rugby tournament had churned the earth up so hugely that they were an expanse of brown swampy mud cross-crossed with narrow grassy patches.

Skirting around the outside of the field, on the grass, they were able to avoid most of the mud. Their route reached a corner intersecting two pitches, where it was clear there had been heavy activity in the last few days, likely a result of the rugby tournament. The pitch had been churned into a quagmire in at least a thirty foot radius.

Danny looked at Linda and said “Should we find another way around?”

Linda looked critically at the mud patch and said “I think we can probably pick our way through it, if we go slowly”.

“Nah, let’s go around” replied Danny “it looks really slippery”

At this moment it began to drizzle, a fine rain falling from the heavens. While it was unusually warm, the two lovers didn’t want to get wet, and did not have much to protect them from the rain, no umbrella or wetcoat.

“We don’t have time to go around – let’s go across the middle and get to cover by the trees over that opposite side” said Linda.

Danny jokingly rolled his eyes at Linda, and replied “OK, OK – I’ll lead the way though, you follow my path and I’ll pick the least muddy route”

Danny started from the grass into the edge of the mud. The mud here was shallow, very sludgy and provided an almost firm surface for his feet. He took a few tentative steps further in, the mud beginning to squidge out from the side of his trainers, but it wasn’t too difficult to progress.

“It’s OK here” he called back to Linda who followed him.

Progressing further the mud got deeper, and Danny’s progress slowed. His trainers were sinking deeper into the mud with each step, but the rain was falling more heavily. It was warm so the rain wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, but not wanting to be out in it longer than necessary, he pressed onward. Looking back at Linda he could see her tottering on the unstable ground, her feet occasionally sliding slightly in the slick gloppy mud.

As they passed the centre of the field, and the most-churned up part, Linda deviated a little from the safe path of footprints Danny had been leaving for her to follow. Placing her foot into the mud, it provided no support and her trainer-clad foot disappeared into the mire, quickly followed by her ankle. In fact the mud greedily swallowed her leg up to her calf with a wet sucking noise. With a shriek of surprise, Linda was stuck.

Looking back – Danny called “Are you OK?”, starting back towards her.

“My leg is stuck!” she called, giggling “Oh God, I should have known”

Danny took a few steps back towards Linda, aiming to take her hand and give her some support to pull her out of this sticky predicament. At that point the change in balance caused his feet to slide uncontrollably under him, and he did a ridiculous cartoon-style-legs-flailing-as-if-on-roller-skates dance, but somehow managed to regain his balance. Linda saw this, and exploded into huge gales of laughter. Bent double, with her right leg trapped, she shook uncontrollably in mirth as Danny stood, arms crossed, testily tapping his foot. As her laughter subsided, she was finally able to speak:

“Ohmigod – that was hilarious”

“As hilarious as the thought of me leaving you here stuck in the mud and the rain?” Danny replied with a cheeky grin

“Just help me out” smiled Linda back.

Danny was able to tentatively tiptoe over to Linda, and taking her hand, gripped firmly. “Ready?” he asked “One… two… three!” He pulled on Linda’s arm. The suction of the mud gave more resistance than expected, but Linda’s leg did start to come out, albeit slowly. Spreading his legs further apart to give a more stable stance, he increased the force of his pull. Linda’s leg came out more steadily, and suddenly the suction of the mud gave out and Linda’s foot was free. The sudden drop in opposing force along with the slick surface of the mud beneath his feet caused Danny to overbalance backwards, and fall flat on his backside with a wet splat. His grip on Linda’s hand slipped and she managed to avoid being pulled down as well, righting herself. Seeing Danny sprawled in the mud on his back, Linda once again started to laugh

“Oh har har” said Danny, flopping his head back, laughing despite himself. He stood himself up, and turned round to show Linda that his back was covered in mud. “Never mind, I’m sure the rain’ll wash it off before I even get home for a shower”.

“Oh God – that was so funny” Linda laughed “you should have seen your face when you went backwards, it was all like Wooooaaaahhh!” as she pulled an exaggerated slo-mo shocked face.

“OK, well if you think it’s so funny, *you* lead the way” he said, holding out his hand to let her go first “after all, ladies first”

“Very well, milord” she said, giggling to herself and giving a little curtsy, putting on an affected “proper” accent suitable for a costume drama.

The two resumed their progress through the mud, and the most treacherous, deep, thick, sloppy part was much wider than they’d anticipated. They’d only been tentatively creeping forward for another 10 seconds before Linda placed a foot on a patch which was especially slick, her feet slid right out from under her like a pendulum, and she seemed to hang in the air horizontally for a second before crashing down to the mud on her back with a sloppy splat in what would have made for a textbook pratfall. Linda’s face contorted into a silent grimace as she twitched and looked up at the sky

“Linda!” said Danny, concerned “Are you OK? Are you hurt?”. It took a moment for Linda to make a sound, but the sound that came through was not pain, but more laughter, she’d been laughing so hard it hadn’t even made a sound. She was soon gasping for breath to counteract the hysterical giggles their adventures in the mud had induced. Danny hurried as fast as he dared up to her and crouched down, holding her hand

“I’m OK, I’m OK…” she laughed “I’m fine, I promise. Just… help me up, will you?”

Danny gripped onto her hand and went to pull but Linda jerked her arm quickly to instead pull Danny down to the ground, on top of her. Danny let out a quick yelp of surprise as he was pulled off his feet. Moving quickly, she rolled over so he was on his back, giggling.

Danny recovered quickly “Oh, it’s like that is it…?” he said, playfully, rolling her back onto her back and straddling her. Linda was an athlete though, she was stronger than Danny gave her credit for and she was with a little effort able to overpower him and roll back on top. The two began rolling in the mud, laughing and playfully wrestling, and soon were grabbing handfuls of the cool slop and plastering each other with it. Danny grabbed two handfuls of mud while Linda was on top and smeared them over her cheeks, down onto her neck, she responded in kind with two handfuls right back at him. She kept hold of his cheeks however, and leant down to kiss him on the mouth. She slipped her tongue in and soon the two were kissing heavily. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction Danny rolled Linda back onto her back, and grabbing two handfuls of mud slopped them onto Linda’s chest, leaving two bold muddy handprints where her breasts lay beneath on her top. Linda grabbed a handful of mud and shoved it down Danny’s T-shirt, rubbing it over his bare chest below the T-shirt. Danny let out a little yelp of surprise at the cool mud touching his bare skin and a gasp as she rubbed it over his bare chest and his nipples inside the garment.

“Right, you want to play like that?” Danny let Linda stay on top, but with one hand grabbed a mass of silky smooth mud, with the other pulled out the back of her jeans and dropped the mud down the back, rubbing them into the back of her cotton panties. Linda enjoyed the sensation of Danny fondling her bum, and leant down to kiss him again. As he enjoyed groping her pert backside with a handful of mud, she broke the kiss, and while he was distracted slapped another big handful of wet mud right into the middle of his face. His face now dark brown, Danny laughed and spat out where mud nearly got in his mouth
“I nearly swallowed that!” he laughed. Grabbing two more handfuls of mud, he went to push them into Linda’s face, but she on top – instead grabbed his wrists to stop his arm’s motion, then pulled out her top, and guided his hands up under her top to rub the mud into her bra. Grabbing two handfuls of her creamy smooth breast flesh he proceeded to rub the mud into the bra as she cooed softly, leaning her head back in pleasure.

“Oooh, that feels kind of nice…” she whispered “Do it again”. He grabbed another two handfuls of mud, and this time, feeling bolder, moved his hands not just inside her top but her bra as well, touching the naked flesh of her breasts, and her nipples, hardened at the sensation of this muddy make-out session. The cool rain continued to fall on the pair, keeping things slick and slippery, the sensations of the two touching each other’s skin was unlike anything they’d experienced before. Caressing Linda’s breasts and flicking his thumbs over her nipples Danny leant up to kiss her, she got the idea and bent down to meet his mouth, their tongues again dancing across each other. Linda was very aware that Danny had a sizeable erection now pressing against his jeans and she ground her hips in a small circle against it, getting a gratifying moan of delight from Danny.

At that moment, lost in that garden of pleasure and overwhelming of the senses, they didn’t see the Halstow men’s rugby team filing out for a practice session. Gathering on the touchline, the team smirked at the couple openly making out in the mud in the middle of the field.

Each grabbing more and more creamy mud and rubbing it over each other’s every inch, inside and outside clothes, the two rolled in the sloppy mud, kissing, touching, caressing.

Danny and Linda were suddenly broken from their reverie by a slow clapping, which increased in pace to a round of applause, whooping, cheering and wolf-whistling, along with calls of “Go on, my son!” to Danny and “You go, girl” to Linda. The two, shocked back to reality, looked over at the rugby players, looked at each other, and blushed with a laugh. Getting themselves to their feet, she gave a small curtsy to the impromptu audience, he gave a stylised bow, and they turned, and as quickly as they could, ran across the rest of the field to the trees on the far side, through some miracle managing to stay upright all the rest of the way. They stopped once they were safely out of site of the rugby team that had caught them in flagrante.

“Stop, stop” laughed Danny “Give me a minute”

“What’s the matter, can’t keep up with the pace any more?” teased Linda

“Yes, I can keep up with the pace… but have you ever tried to run with an erection?” asked Danny with a smirk

Linda and Danny laughed, and looked at each other. They looked like swamp monsters, dark brown from head to foot, with only their eyes peeking out from the mass of brown that covered their every outer inch. Their clothes were sodden with mud, and underneath a significant portion of their underwear had also been ruined by the claggy mess, and inside even that, mud had been smeared and stroked into nipples, tummies, backs and bums.

“Well, we can’t go to the pub now…” said Danny

“Come back to mine, we’ll get cleaned up” said Linda.

The two walked the rest of the way back to Linda’s house hand in hand, proud as peacocks, wilfully ignoring the amazed or confused stares of passers-by who wondered what on earth had happened to these two. Sadly, the rain had subsided so they weren’t able to let it wash off the mud as they walked.

Finally making it back to Linda’s house, they stripped to their underwear and spent the night there, showering individually (it took Linda a lot of willpower to not invite Danny in to join her, but she really did not want to rush things, she wanted to make sure everything was just right before they took the next step). After watching a movie on TV the two lovers spooned in bed in their pyjamas, enjoying falling asleep in each others’ arms, sharing a bed but not yet consummating their relationship.

***

Linda woke and glanced over at Danny – still fast asleep. She slipped out of bed, put her slippers on and snuck out of her bedroom so as not to wake the sleeping object of her affections, who was starting to stir. Coming downstairs, Linda grabbed the mail from the doormat and went to put the kettle on. Starting to leaf through the mail- gas bill, phone bill, charity appeal… she was interrupted moments later by Danny appearing at the doorway of the kitchen in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. With a smile she greeted him, embracing him and giving him a kiss:

“Good morning sleepyhead, I thought you were still out cold. Did you sleep alright?” she asked as he squeezed her tight

“Like a baby” he smiled back “All the better for having you next to me”

“I’m just making tea, want one?”

“Mmm, that’d be lovely” he smiled, moving into the lounge and sitting himself down on the sofa.

Linda moved back into the kitchen as the kettle boiled

“So what would you like to do today?” called Danny to Linda, raising his voice over the clinking of mugs and spoons as Linda made tea.

Returning with two mugs, Linda handed one to Danny and stood by the dining table, once again picked up the mail and recommenced leafing through it.

“Oh, I don’t know, it’s a nice day; maybe we could head down to the coast, or go for a walk in the country”

Danny smiled back at Linda “As long as it’s dry, I was washing mud out of places you shouldn’t be able to *get* mud for ages yesterday”

Linda gave him a cheeky grin and a suggestive waggle of her eyebrows as she happened upon an envelope addressed with only “Linda”. Looking at it quizzically, she tore open the envelope, and pulling out the paper within, she unfolded it, and her eyes suddenly shot wide open with terror. Ice water poured down her spine, and a wave of panic washed over her. Her eyes rolled back and in the intensity of the moment she lost consciousness.

“Linda?!” Danny shot up and ran to her to catch her as Linda fainted – the mug of tea she held slipping from her hands and hitting the floor, spilling tea all over the carpet. The letter also slipped from Linda’s grasp and fluttered to the floor, landing in the puddle of tea soaking into the carpet. Danny’s eyes equally widened when he read the same words that had put the fear of God into Linda. Four words, made up of letters taken from adverts, newspapers, food packets and other sources, stuck to the page, ransom-note style. Four words, individually innocuous but together, a terrifying threat:

“I’m coming for you”

Hi All,

Just to let you know we have now reached the threshold of 512, and therefore the nominations are now closed for the 2016 Gunge Grand Prix! The list is being verified as we speak, and provided everything goes according to plan, I will be looking to conduct the first round draw later today. Stay tuned for further news!

Hello, and welcome to scene 28 of Pancake Day 2. Notable for being one of the longer scenes I’ve written for this series. A lot of which is taken up by a fair amount of explanation of Porcelain’s character, where we learn a lot of her philosophy and what motivates her. It is interesting to see how her character has developed and become more fleshed out. I was recently looking over the first film, in order to put it on another site, and I can spot a few things which I would have done differently now I’ve developed her character more. Maybe one day I’ll do a remake, it’s what seems to have happened to all the big horror franchises.

The trap in this scene comes from watching a show called Release The Hounds, a horror themed action game show that sees contestants having to compete in various scary games. The trap here is very similar too one of the games that stuck out in my mind from that show, but obviously I’ve added a few messy twists. It’s not actually the first time I’ve drawn inspiration for that show, as the idea of having to catch something in your mouth and use it to fill up a container used in the penultimate scene of the first film came from that as well, and just off the top off my head I can think of a good idea for a trap to use in the future as well, but I won’t give away anything about that here.

Scene 28:

The camera fades to darkness, and stays that way. As the camera looks on we can make out a few more silhouettes around the room, it’s like wearing a pair of dark sunglasses in a poorly lit room. Directly in the middle of shot is the shape of a woman, who walks in a familiar way. As she moves closer we see she’s holding a bucket, and she throws the contents in the direction of the camera. A yelp of shock is heard as the camera suddenly pans downwards, looking at the floor. Shortly after that another loud yelp is heard, then a clunk is heard as a spotlight coming on at the top of the shot. The camera pans up to where the spotlight points where a familiar person stands.

Porcelain: Hello Christine. Hello Victoria. It’s playtime.

The camera first cuts to Christine. The lighting is dim but we see she’s wearing a figure hugging designer black dress, and black pointed stiletto shoes with gold straps. Of course much of her dress is currently covered in pancake batter, that also covers a lot of her face, but we can see her highly volumized brunette hair, sparkly earrings dangling from her ears, and bright red lipstick on her lips. Her eyes are currently obscured by a pair of swimming goggles with darkened lenses. The camera pans around her, and we see her hands are chained behind her back, and around her waist is a thick looking leather belt, attached to a long steel chord leading out behind her.
The camera cuts to Victoria. She wears a similar pair of goggles and is bound in the same way. She too is covered in batter, that has ruined what was once a highly stylised blonde bob. She wears a revealing stunning red dress, with her long legs leading down to a matching pair of red stilettos.
The camera cuts to an overview of the room. It’s a large rectangular room, with Christine tethered to one wall, Victoria the opposite. Porcelain stands in the middle of the two of them. In the dimness of the room it looks like there are two large pits, about five foot across, one behind Christine, the other behind Victoria. It looks like there’s something of interest at the end of the room too, but it’s not easy to tell in the darkness.

Christine: You! Your that Helen Mathews girl. I remember you stole a load of money, dropped out, and went all psycho.
Porcelain: I prefer the name Princess Porcelain now, but apart from that your just about right. Well done.
Victoria: What the fuck are you doing back here then?
Porcelain: Do you need to ask? Did you really think I’d forget about you two after you were so horrible to me while I was here. Thanks to you and your underlings, who I’ve already dealt with, I ended most days in tears, I’d end up making myself ill, just because I was to scared to attend lessons. You made my life a living hell.
Christine: Well you were hardly an angel.
Porcelain: And you think I should have just taken it. You could have stopped at any time and that would have been the end of it. Peaceful truce. You got me involved in your horrible games, whether I wanted to be or not. Well now it’s time for you to play one of my games. Do that successfully, and maybe you’ll get free of your chains. Fail though, and you’ll find that chord attached to you is going to get a lot shorter, pulling you into that pool behind you.

The camera cuts to one of the pools as a spotlight comes on over it. We see it’s mostly a white substance, the consistency of a thick cream with lots of lumps in it, but there are also a lot of other items like potato peelings, egg shells and other various lumps peaking out from the surface.

Victoria: What is that?
Porcelain: It’s mostly old cottage cheese, but I thought we could mix in a few other surprises, mostly old food scraps and rubbish from the canteen. I thought you two deserved an extra special play session.
Christine: Come on, there’s no need for this. We just wanted to toughen you up.
Porcelain: An interesting philosophy, but despite what some of the staff here seemed to believe a wrong one. Sure there are plenty of people who choose to live in a nasty bitter world, because when your bitter to other people, then they’re bitter back. There are plenty of good more forgiving people out there for you if that’s the path you ultimately choose. It seems that just because you chose a path of being bitchy and horrible too others, you expect others to do the same.
Victoria: Do you really think such a stupid naive attitude will work? Is your mind even living in the real world?
Porcelain: Oh it was remembering I was in the real world that made me who I am today. You see, despite what you may claim, you and everyone else who made my life a misery where just monsters. You can make all the twisted justifications you like, but ultimately you revelled in acting like a monster. I know all to well this is no fairy tale, this is the real world. In the real world there are no knights in shining armour, no prince charming, no square jawed superheroes or brooding anti-heroes. Do you know what you really want when you want to defeat a monster in the real world?
Victoria: What?
Porcelain: It’s another monster! I knew what I had to do if I wanted to get rid of the monsters that had always been around me, and by the looks of it this monster has almost won.
Victoria: You always were a twisted fuck!
Porcelain: Well, at least I always give my victims a free choice of what happens to them. All they have to do is play my games successfully to escape, although I admit in your case your fate isn’t totally up to you.
Christine: What?
Porcelain: I thought it was time you two learnt that not being nice to others can come back and bite you in the arse.

The camera cuts as another spotlight comes on, this time at the far end of the room. It shows what looks like a set of large electronic scales, and a plastic slide that leads down to them, but the camera zooms in to the main focus which is someone with their heads and wrists locked in a large wooden pillory. He’s wearing a pair of faded jeans, with an oriental dragon design stitched on to one leg, and a black t-shirt with a picture of a cobra marked out in white. His head is currently obscured by a black hood over it, but that changes as Porcelain steps over and pulls it off. This reveals the face underneath, his long black hair and dark eyes give him rock star good looks.

Christine: Jack! Jack! Tell your girlfriend to let us go right now!

Jack looks around, a little confused as his eyes adjust to the light. He does a double take as he recognises Porcelain.

Jack: Helen? What are you …..

Porcelain silences him by placing a finger over his lips.

Porcelain: Don’t worry. I wouldn’t ever do anything bad to you. I just need you to help these two in their little play session.

Porcelain pauses to playfully stroke her hand across Jack’s cheek, before the camera cuts to an overview of the room as she turns back to address Christine and Victoria.

Porcelain: The keys to freedom are contained within that electronic panel by the door. Of course currently none of you can reach it. However the latch holding Jack in place will release if enough weight is put on the scales in front of him. All you two need to do is send enough things down the slide to release the latch.
Christine: What are we supposed to place on there.

The camera cuts to a table on the opposite end of the room to Jack. A spotlight comes on revealing a large selection of gateaux’s and deserts placed on the table.

Porcelain: All you have to do is transport some of them from the table to the scales.

Suddenly a clunk is heard and all the brightly lit spotlights suddenly change colour to that of a dark blue, a similar shade of the goggles Christine and Victoria are wearing.

Victoria: Hey! How can we do that if we can’t see.
Porcelain: You’ll have to rely on someone else to be your eyes. I’ll see you later Jack.
Jack: Helen wait! Can’t we talk about this.
Victoria: Yeah! Don’t leave us here you bitch!

The camera cuts to Porcelain looking back with a wry smile as the door slides shut behind her.

Victoria: That cow! Jack! Why didn’t you stop her?
Jack: How? I don’t own her.
Victoria: You hardly tried you stupid waster.
Jack: You must have read about her online. I doubt there was anything I could do.
Christine: Guys your wasting time, and I don’t want to get seriously messed up because of your incompetence.
Victoria: Yeah Jack. Get us out of here now.
Jack: O.K. Christine turn right, Victoria turn left. Walk forward until I tell you.

The camera cuts to an overview of the room, we see Christine and Victoria make their way to the table, while Jack gives directions, the sound of which aren’t picked up from this distance. As Christine gets within a foot of the table the camera cuts to a shot of her. We see the steel cable is now taught.

Jack: Just a little closer Christine.
Christine: How you idiot? This is as far as I can go.
Jack: You’ll have to bend forward and find something that way. I can’t see the table that well from here.

The camera cuts to a close up of a large chocolate cake and whipped cream layered gateaux topped with strawberries as Christine feels around it, and then sticks her face in the top. She sinks her face deeper and deeper, before coming up, gasping, her face covered in a layer of cream and chocolate cake.

Christine: Victoria. There’s a wooden stick or something at the bottom of the cakes. Grab that with your teeth.

The camera cuts to Victoria who’s face is above a cake completely covered with gooey orangey icing, with orange slices decorating the top. The camera zooms in as Victoria feels for the top of the cake and pushes her face down. Some of the cake falls to the side of the plate as she digs deeper and deeper. She lifts her head revealing her face and much of her blonde hair now covered in a thick layer of orange icing and cake crumbs. The camera cuts to Christine who is holding on to the gateaux as best she can, although quite a bit has fallen down the front of her black dress.

Jack: Christine, take two steps to your right. Your almost there. Can you get any closer?
Christine: Mmpph!
Jack: O.K. The slides about a foot in front of you. You’ll have to throw it the rest of the way.

Christine weakly throws the gateaux, it hits the edge of the slide, meaning some of the gateaux slowly slides down, while some of it drops away.

Jack: Try throwing a bit harder next time. Quite a bit of that went on the floor.
Christine: Why don’t you try if you think this is so easy?

The camera suddenly cuts to Victoria’s face covered in orange icing as she throws her cake. The camera quickly cuts to Christine sticking her head in a pile of profiteroles. Then the camera cuts to Victoria’s face covered in jam. Then to Christine throwing a trifle down the slide, revealing her face covered in whipped cream. Then it cuts to Victoria plunging her head into a custard filled pastry case. It then cuts to Christine as she accidentally drops a large New York cheesecake on the ground. The camera then cuts and stays on a close up of Jack in the pillory as he gives directions, with a look of annoyance on his face. The camera then cuts to Victoria throwing a lemon meringue pie down the slide, then to Christine throwing down a strawberry tart, then to Victoria throwing down a bowl of chocolate moose, and finally Christine throwing down a birthday cake with pink icing. The camera then stays on the cake as it slides down on the already large pile of cakes on the scales. When it lands a loud buzz is heard. The camera then cuts to Jack in the pillory as all the lights turn back from dark blue to normal lighting. Jack is now able to lift the upper half of the pillory and stand up.

Christine: What’s happening?
Jack: I’m free.

The camera cuts to Victoria as she drops the carrot cake she was holding. The cake falls down her front creating additional mess on her red dress. Her face and much of her hair is now covered in the various jams, icings and cream she’s stuck her face in to, plus cake crumbs and sprinkles also cling to her face. This includes the goggles that mean hers and Christine’s vision is still impaired.

Victoria: Thank Christ for that. Now hurry up and get us out of here.
Christine: Come on. Get a fucking move on.

The camera cuts to Jack looking at the panel by the door.

Jack: It’s a panel with two buttons and some writing on it.
Victoria: What the hell are you waiting for? Press the buttons.
Jack: Hang on. It says press the red buttons to release the keys to their chains. Press the blue one to open the door. Warning. Pressing one button disables the other.
Victoria: Well for fucks sake press the red button.
Jack: Then we’ll be trapped in here.
Christine: Who cares? We’ll be safer in here than out their with that psychopath about.
Victoria: Don’t be a dumb arse! Just press the red button.

The camera cuts to Jack as he looks into the room for a few seconds, then with a dismissive wave of the arm that makes his annoyance with the two girls clear he turns around and presses the blue button. Without even looking back he steps through the door as it slides open.

Victoria: Jack! Your dead! Do you hear me.

Suddenly the sound of a loud motor can be heard. The camera cuts to one of the steel chords as the slack is suddenly taken up, and it whips tight. The camera cuts to Christine as she runs backwards, pulled along by the chord.

Christine: No! No!

The camera cuts to Christine’s black stilettos as she reaches the lip around the edge of the pool. Her vision impaired and force to walk backwards at speed she is unprepared and trips, falling down on her back. The camera then cuts to Victoria as she falls backwards into the pool. She disappears completely under the mess for a number of seconds before remerging, sitting up, gasping. Her face, hair and cloths are completely saturated in a greasy layer, lumps of white cottage cheese, as well a few other bits of old kitchen scraps clinging to her hair. As she kicks her legs in frustration we see even her red stilettos didn’t go unscathed, covered in a particularly dense clump of white lumps. The camera cuts to Christine who is sitting in her own pool in a similar state, looking in a similar state, if anything she looks worse thanks to the contrast between the white liquid and her dark brunette hair. The camera focuses on her for several seconds as she tries to stand up, but in the end she is forced to shuffle along on her arse in order to get to the side of the pool and awkwardly climb out, tumbling over the side. The camera cuts back to Victoria, who herself has climbed out the pool, and is awkwardly getting to her feet, hindered by her hands being stuck behind her back and her choice of footwear. The camera cuts to a close up of her shoes, and pans up her body, all of which is now covered in cottage cheese, and has various lumps clinging to it, until the camera settles on her face, that is almost unrecognisable under all the cake and cottage cheese covering it in a thick layer.

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

Hi All,

Please find attached the draw for the first round of the 2016 Gunge Grand Prix! With such a large number of matches to take place, the first round will be held over 8 weeks, with 32 matches taking place each week. Each vote will last one week, and results (including vote percentages) will be announced prior to the start of the next section of matches.

The draw was carried out using random sequencing and there will be no seeding at any stage in the competition. All draws will be carried out in this manner up to and including the semi-finals.

I am now in the process of collating pictures for the first set of matches with a view to these going live within the next few days. If anyone notices any issues with pictures during the vote process, please let me know and I will amend these accordingly.

Thanks, and keep your eyes peeled for the first votes!

Gunge Grand Prix 2016

As always, the show’s concluding segment opens with Sian and the guards standing beside in front of the Mucky Dip, the chair beside them waiting for its victim.

Sian: Welcome back to the final part of this week’s Comeuppance, with me Sian Welby! We’ve received a huge crop of votes this evening – far more than any previous episode – but voting is of now closed, so please cease calling. We won’t count your vote and we may still charge you. We’re harsh like that.

Sian walks over to the cages, the ever-obedient guards at her heel.

Sian: But not as harsh as we’re going to be to one of you three! Princess Priscilla, you had an extra large lead at half time; are you all set for your vlog exclusive on Dippe de Muque?

Priscilla: [looking ashen] I’m praying that the lead has changed. I really don’t deserve this!

Sian: That’ll be for the voters to decide! Claire, you were in second place; is a mucky fate written in your stars?

Claire: Over the course of many moons each of us shall reap what we sow.

Sian: [shaking her head derisively] No clue then. Veronica, is there anything you’d like to add?

Veronica makes a noise like a belch echoing in a drain.

Sian: Charming! Well ladies, the verification is complete and I can now reveal the final polling scores.

The lights fade except a spotlight on each of the cages. The dramatic music plays.

Sian: The public have spoken, and their verdict is as follows:

The audience groans and begins a sarcastic hand-clap. The lights go up. The contestants glare at Sian.

Sian: Sorry about this! Minor technical hiccup, bear with us! [Hisses at crew] Can we get this sorted please! ASAP!!

The crew faff about for a couple of minutes while Sian smiles sweetly for the camera. Then the lights go back down and the dramatic music recommences.

Sian: The public have spoken, and their verdict is as follows:

This time the audience gasps with amazement as the lights snap back on. Priscilla blinks for several seconds at the screen in front of her, her mouth slowly rising to a joyous smile as the news sets in. Veronica also stares at the screen, but her reaction is the opposite.

Sian: Wow!! What an inversion! I did say anything can happen on this show, and happen it has!

The guards advance on Veronica’s cage.

Veronica: This can’t be right! I was only on 9 before! Your system’s [moo!] up! Sham! Sham!!

The guards unlock the cage. Sian looks uneasily towards the crew and mouths something that looks like “are we going with this?”

Veronica: [in a death metal growl into the guards’ faces] SHAAAMMMMMUGHH!!

Sian: [regaining her authoritative air] I can assure you the result is proper, correct, and final! Gents, take her away to face the music!

The guards yank Veronica out of the cage and frogmarch her to the chair, while she continues to growl. Sian unlocks the right-hand cage, letting Claire glide out.

Sian: Claire, you haven’t exactly wowed me with your supposed abilities tonight, but if you signed up because you foresaw you’d escape clean and dry, then you’ve been proven right. This result must be ying to your yang!

Claire: [with a sanguine shrug] Your material muck matters not to me; it is spiritual cleanliness that counts.

Sian: [smirks] I reckon you’d feel different if you were going in, but whatever, here’s a Jammy Dodger trophy to take back to Totnes. You can tell those suckers – I mean, your clients – that it’s an all-seeing eye or something. Thanks for coming on the show.

Claire: Sian, after the way you scorned the spirit world maybe I shouldn’t bother to warn you, but… [takes Sian’s hand between] I have a premonition. I see a woman… a blonde woman.

Sian: Of course you do; you’re looking straight at me!

Claire: No, another blonde woman. From an earlier era. [closes her eyes] She was once associated with a coloured man.

Sian: [sharply] Now there’s no need to be racist!

Claire: [gentle gyrating] She’s a spinning Greek goddess…

Sian: Yep, we’re a bit pushed for time after that technical problem, so if you’d kindly—

Claire: [in a more urgent tone] She seeks vengeance upon you Sian!

Sian: Vengeance? What for?

Claire: [waving the Jammy Dodgy in the air as she whirls] Because you beat her to a game of chance… and you near taunt her!

Sian: Meh, I taunt everyone on this show, and there’s no near about it. Ladies and gents, a mystified round of applause for Claire Voyant please!

The audience commence their customary slow handclap. Sian pushes Claire away. The latter pirouettes towards the exit.

Claire: [calling] Near taunt her, I tell you!

Sian: Geddoff wi’yer!! [Walks over to Priscilla’s cage] Well Princess, it really looked like you were for it there, but fate – or something – appears to have intervened.

Priscilla: [back to her usual posing self, her fear forgotten] I always knew the public would spare me; I’m simply too stylish to be slopped!

Sian: Don’t speak too soon! You’ll be back to face the vote next week, and you may get your comeuppance yet!

Priscilla pouts in her best “spoilt brat” pose.

Sian: [scratching her head as she proceeds to the plinth] Whew! This has surely been the strangest episode to date, but rest assured the conclusion will be as entertaining as always! That’s right folks, Veronica Pleasance is about to go from mosh pit to muck pit!

The funereal music commences. The scene changes to a low, side-on shot over the undulations of off-white, marshmallowy muck, decorated with lines of pink, yellow, green and blue. The camera rises, leaving the gunk behind and meeting Veronica’s bare feet (with unvarnished toenails) a metre up. The view continues up Veronica’s tight black trousers, followed by her scanty lace top which leaves her toned abdomen all but exposed to the muck’s mercy. The camera continues its ascent, sweeping over Veronica’s black bra, and finally stops at her head. Veronica has a palm clasped to her forehead, clenching at her vividly dyed hair, and a perturbed look on her face as she dangles over the gloop.

Sian: Oooh, not looking so fierce now, is she? This, everyone, is the girl who loves to crank up the volume; now we’ve cranked her right up to eleven, and it’s time to drown her out!

Sian lays her palm on the big red button. Perhaps in defiance to Sian’s goading, Veronica raises her hands in the familiar devil-horns gesture, but her face twitches with disquiet.

Sian: Veronica, on behalf of everyone who’s had their peace shattered by garage band rehearsals…

Sian and audience: HERE IS YOUR COMEUPPANCE!!!

Sian smacks the button down, setting off a sound and light show to rival any rock concert. The winch releases and Veronica free-falls. Her face grimaces but her arms remain raised, the gesturing fingers being the last part of her to disappear into the vat. There’s much less of a splash compared to previous episodes, owing to the soft and extremely sticky nature of the gunk, and the overflow down the Mucky Dip’s outer walls is also muted. In fact, a wave of the whitish goo rises at the rim and remains stuck there.

The cables thrash about, accompanied by a gargling sound effect, which could easily have issued from Veronica’s own throat, were she not submerged in goo. Then the winch kicks in, hauling Veronica out of the frothy depths.

As the fanfare of humiliation heralds Veronica’s emergence, the audience’s cheers and laughs are joned with gasps; Veronica has taken a good portion of the Mucky Dip with her! With her arms (presumably) still raised, she is contained within a great cloud of unappetising off-white, streaked with the various bright colours. After a few seconds motionless, the cloud begins to thrash, arms punching and legs kicking. A few mounds fall away but most clings on, stringy and cloying, fluffy yet sticky. Veronica clears an adequate cavity to breath, and then the gutteral groans enamate from inside the gooey cocoon, more heartfelt than on any of Cyanide Honeymoon’s studio recordings.

Veronica: GGGRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

More lumps of muck drop off into the Dip from whence they came, but Veronica remains entombed. Her hair has been swept upwards, and sits encased on the top of her head in what resembles a giant ice-cream flurry. The sticky goop envelops her body, and has permeated her lace top to stick to her skin (front and back – the wire mesh of the chair offers no protection either). Her feet are now sealed inside an impromptu pair of slippers. Veronica tries to clear the clinging gunk off her, but it is so sticky that she succeeds only in transferring it from one part of her to another. Even getting it off her face proves difficult; she manages to clear her mouth and eyes but not much more.

Just when Veronica couldn’t look any more ridiculous, huges torrents of red and purple gunge fall from above, split into multiple jetlets, NHP-style. Veronica’s head shakes in defeat as she takes this secondary coating.

Sian: [slapping the plinth in hysterics] Ohhhh!! Wonderful stuff! She got pretty much every colour except black, ironically! Vron, you can wear that generous coat to your next gig. You’ll certainly have a frightening stage presence, and for once something will stink more than your music! Ha ha ha!!

Judging by the screwed-up expression on what can be seen of Veronica face, the stuff really does smell quite bad.

Sian: But in all seriousness Vron, you’ve been an excellent sport and we wish you and Cyanide Honeymoon every success. Who knows, if in years to come you win “best heavy metal” at the Brits, the journos might dig out this old footage of you covered in muck!

Veronica: [snarling] One, we are not “heavy metal”!! Two, I wouldn’t allow my corpse to be seen at the Brit awards! And three, if it turns out I’ve been wrongly dunked, you will have all hell to pay!!

Sian: Oh pipe down and have some more muck!

Straight on cue, two more showers rain onto Veronica, this time green and yellow, flowing over her head and landing in her lap.

Sian: [turns to the camera] Unfortunately, due to that tiny technical matter earlier, we don’t have time for the slow-mo replays. But fear not, because Veronica’s comeuppance and all the others are available at comeuppance.tv, with a variety of camera angles and speeds. You can watch all day long, and judging by our viewing stats, many of you do! Thanks for tuning in tonight, and remember, don’t be inconsiderate to other in your community. The consequences, as demonstrated by Miss Pleasance, are not pleasant! Goodnight!

The funky outro music plays, but instead of waving from the stage as usual, Sian goes to the side of the stage and huddles in conversation with the crew. As the titles scroll across the screen, various shots of people in the audience are shown. Attention then turns to Princess Priscilla, who has her hand over her mouth as she looks up at Veronica’s fate. Finally, the scene returns to Veronica, wriggling about in a vain attempt to get some of the fluffy muck off her. Just before the scene fades, she gets her third helping of gunk from above – this time blue and brown. The programme closes with very brief before and after replays of Veronica plunging into and emerging from the Mucky Dip.

Author’s note: If you find these results almost as fishy as the Mucky Dip itself, then you’re not the only one. The total number of votes cast is far higher than usual (nearly 700 versus the usual total of about 400) and Veronica’s count shot up from about 20 after three days of voting to 200 over a single night!

It doesn’t seem the case that a link was posted on a site where the users might be minded to vote for Veronica, because I would have seen the incoming clicks in the stats. That leaves me to conclude that an individual went “full Lauren Freeman” on this poll.

But whatever happened, I’ve gone along with it, because (a) I can’t prove any foul play, (b) I don’t have a fallback procedure (the perils of live telly), and (c) someone who takes the trouble to sabotage a poll for an imaginary gunging of a fictional character based on stock model photos evidently needs all the fulfillment they can get in life.

It’s a pity for those of you who vote honestly, await the outcome, and treat the whole thing as a bit of fun. I find it very annoying myself when I put the work into writing these. I hope whoever did this will reflect on the inconsiderate nature of their actions and that this kind of thing won’t happen again.

TG

Good evening,

Just to let you all know that the first 32 matches in the Gunge Grand Prix will go live at 8pm UK time tomorrow (Wednesday 6th April)!

Ahead of the votes opening tomorrow, there are a couple of bits of housekeeping to take care of:

1. All votes will be open for precisely seven days, so the votes for the first 32 matches will close at 8pm on Wednesday 13th April.
2. To prevent vote spamming, all users should, if I’ve set the votes up correctly, be limited to one vote per day per match. This means you will be able to vote up to 7 times on any given match.
3. Votes can be accessed via the ‘Gunge Grand Prix 2016’ tab at the top of the home page. Scroll down to First Round 2016 and then click on the match of your choice.

To make you aware of when future matches go online, I have drawn up a rough schedule of when the votes will take place. Please bear in mind this is subject to change depending on personal circumstances etc.

Matches 1-32: 6th-13th April

Matches 33-64: 14th-21st April

Matches 65-96: 22nd-29th April

Matches 97-128: 30th April-7th May

Matches 129-160: 8th-15th May

Matches 161-192: 16th-23rd May

Matches 193-224: 24th-31st May

Matches 225-256: 1st-8th June

Thanks, and see you at 8pm tomorrow as the competition gets underway!

Note:  Well, it took just over 13 months (somehow), but this is the conclusion of the story started here.  Enjoy.

Dawn was still a few hours away when preparations for Vague Magazine’s Annual Spring Picnic began.  A large section of the city park had been cordoned off for the lavish event, sure to be the highlight of the month on the society-circuit.  Decorators, caterers, landscapers, and others worked in near darkness to set up for the occasion, transforming the prime patch of park between the duck pond and the little botanical garden.  Dozens of people were employed to ensure the event went off without a hitch.

In a curious case of coincidence, only a few blocks away from the park, an artisan baker was in his shop, putting the finishing touches on his first big project of the day.  It was a special order for a pair of banana cream pies.   Although this particular baker was a thirty-year-veteran of his craft, he was hardly a renowned pastry chef.  What he did have, was a reputation for tackling even the most outrageous orders with aplomb, which he personally suspected had a lot to do with his receiving this particular job.   The request had been for two cream pies, big, but not unwieldy, and piled high without being unstable.  Stranger still, the customer wanted the crusts baked longer than usual, until brittle.  The baker had warned that over-baked pie crusts risked shattering with any attempt to cut them, but the customer assured him that would not be a problem.  Perhaps oddest of all, this unusual patron had gone to some lengths to remain anonymous, even arranging for a courier to pick up the finished desserts.  Oh well, the baker pondered, flicking lovely peaks into the piles of cream with a small spatula, the customer was always right…  He slid both pies into a large refrigerator, where the cream would set, making the pastries perfect to be served by early afternoon.

…

Cora Huff tossed a stack of revenue reports onto her desk and glanced at the clock.  The stainless-steel face read quarter-to-twelve.  Even though it was a Saturday, not to mention the day of the magazine’s annual Spring Picnic, Cora had been in her office since seven.  No eyebrows would rise at the thought of the notoriously-reserved Vice President of Finance skipping a fancy party in favor of busywork.  However, Cora found herself uncharacteristically unable to focus on the papers she’d been staring at, much less the numbers they represented.  There was just too much riding on today; too much riding on events she could not personally oversee.  It was exceptionally irksome given her meticulous nature and compulsion towards control.  There was nothing for it.  She just had to get over the discomfort.  With a sigh, Cora rose from her desk.  It was time for lunch, and distracted or not, Cora was hardly one to deviate from a routine.  Despite following what had been a sporadically rainy week, the weather today was beautiful.   She left her jacket on the hook, but began shuffling papers into her attaché case.  Maybe she’d be able to get some work done at the restaurant.

…

As Cora Huff was preparing to leave the Vague Magazine Headquarters, Marlowe Philips was just arriving.  Unlike Cora, it was far less believable that Marlowe would willingly miss the annual Spring Picnic, so her absence required a bit more preparation.  She had secretly arranged for an important advertising project to languish until it became an emergency, tragically necessitating she and a couple of her staff come into work rather than attend the picnic.  Marlowe understood why it made sense for her to stay away from the event, but she did dearly wish she could be there to watch the fireworks in person…  Oh well.  She was going to have to settle for obsessively monitoring social media and using her imagination.  She gave security an exaggerated frown as she passed through the lobby, hunching her shoulders and dragging her feet, much to their sympathetic amusement.   Once in the elevator, she punched the button for the forty-eight floor, where her office was located.  She took a moment to savor the fact that soon, very soon, she would have a much nicer office, on a much higher floor.  Her takeaway from this devilish little conspiracy was to be the official number two spot at the magazine.  Fortunately, that spot would be conveniently vacated when Samantha Bogey took control, holding the strings to Charlie’s puppet regime, and assuming whatever made-up title came with that position of potent power.

…

At nearly noon, on the Saturday boasting the annual Vague Magazine Spring Picnic, Charlie Dash was asleep.  The stunning model and renowned beauty icon was splayed across a white satin futon in the middle of her living room, snoring.  She was wearing a purple silk robe over a flower-patterned bikini.  The remnants of the prior night’s intense and lengthy party were strewn throughout the petite yet elegant luxury condo, located in a gated community at the edge of the city.  Debris included a wide variety of empty bottles, an assortment of abandoned clothing, as well as a number of guests, slumped over furniture and floors, all young and attractive and unconscious, in keeping with their host.  Charlie was taking her duty to the secret group, namely NOT attending the Spring Picnic, very seriously.  She had overindulged at her own party to ensure that she would not be in attendance, while also providing a good excuse for her absence, or at least what passed for a good excuse in her gilded universe.  Due to her care-less nature and alcohol-fueled hibernation, Charlie was not the least bit nervous or curious about what was going on at the Vague Magazine Spring Picnic.

…

Brigid Oster felt as though her insides had undergone some kind of terrible transformation, and were now composed entirely of concentrated nervousness.  The funny thing was, on any other day, in any other situation, she would have considered this party one of the most divinely stress-free settings imaginable.  Somewhere deep inside Brigid the extreme juxtaposition of her environment and her frame of mind, coupled with the convincingly relaxed smile she was forcing her face to maintain, was downright hilarious.  Hilarious in a slightly unhinged, adrenaline-spiked sort of way.  Brigid refused to even allow herself to fake a chuckle at any of the mundane party banter, as she worried it would spin out of control into a fit of maniacal laughter.  Obviously that would be a disaster.  No, she just had to focus.  Come on, keep it together, she chides herself, just another hour or so, then it will all be over.

Plucking a mimosa from the silver tray of a passing server, Brigid downed half the drink in a single gulp.  She glanced at her phone for the two-hundredth time since the party began.  Fortunately, as this was an industry event, she was by no means the only personal assistant present and blatant digital-dependency was displayed freely, so her endless screen checks were hardly suspicious. Of course, there were still no updates.  She had to remind herself, once again, that at this point in the game, no news was good news.
The sudden sensation of fingers on her bare shoulder nearly made Brigid hurl her drink into the air.  It was only her boss.   The Director of Operations for Vague Magazine, also the ringleader of their conspiracy, looked fabulous.  Samantha Bogey was wearing a strapless cocktail dress slit high up the thigh.  The dress was black, an unconventional choice for a spring party, but the bold color was offset with a dense pattern of small red polka dots.  Her long black hair was up in a chignon studded with pins sporting little rubies, and bright red heels kept the theme.  Her expression, just then, straddled amusement and concern.

“You ok?  You almost jumped out of your skin.  Are you nervous about something?”  Samantha’s lips curled into a wicked smile.

Brigid let out a long breath.  She allowed her boss’ aura of cool confidence absorb some of her anxiety.  Unlike Samantha, Brigid had dressed more conventionally for the event.  She wore a seafoam-green sheath dress which fell, barely, to her pale knees, with beige ballet flats and her strawberry hair in loose curls.  Downing the rest of her mimosa, she shrugged.

“Nope.  What on earth could go wrong at a place like this?”  She gestured to the lavish party going on around them with her empty glass and the two women shared a secret smirk.

In fairness, it really was difficult to find this party stressful.   No expense had been spared in its production and execution.  Beaming servers milled through the clusters of well-heeled guests, offering an abundance of cocktails and canapes.  A full bar with a staff of five was located at one end of the party, for the more discerning day-drinkers.  At the opposite end from the bar, a small stage had been set up and currently featured a six-piece ensemble providing auditory ambiance; mostly garden-party standard classical fair, but with the occasional coy instrumental arrangement of a popular radio hit sprinkled in for flavor.  Imported flowers decked everything, in bouquets and garlands, saturating the park with their perfumes.  Draped above their heads strings of paper lanterns dangled dark, waiting for sunset, and matching the floating lanterns bobbing on the small duck pond that edged the party.  It was an unqualified success so far, laughter and idle chatter burbled in the background as fashion moguls and media mavens mixed with celebrated models, designers, and photographers.

A silent staffer with an earpiece and a clipboard stole up next to them and whispered something to Samantha then vanished into the crowd.  Samantha finished her gimlet and handed Brigid the glass.

“Well, she’s here.  The toasts will begin soon, I’m going to go freshen up.” As she turned to depart, Samantha added under her breath, “You should inform our friends.”

Brigid placed both empty glasses on a nearby table, where they were swiftly bussed by unseen hands, and took up her phone once again, a tingle of excitement now mixed with her nervousness.

…

Cora was waiting for her check when the message arrived.

“The toasts are about to start.”

Despite the desperately dull content of the message, especially to someone not even attending the event in question, Cora allowed a catlike smile to spread across her face.  Right on schedule.

Pushing aside the remnants of a Caesar salad, Cora began gathering up the papers she’d strewn across the restaurant table.  If she hurried, she could make it back to the office in time to watch the inevitable social-media-fireworks with Marlowe…

…

As Marlowe set her phone back down on the table, she must have been wearing a particularly smug smile.

“What’s that?  You’re making that face.  Is it something about the party?  Ugh.  I’m still gutted we had to work today.”

Angela Westwood was one of the anchors of her advertising department, and her missing the Spring Picnic was just unfortunate collateral damage of their scheming.

“Oh it’s nothing Angie, just a dumb inside joke.  And don’t sweat missing that party.  From what I hear, it’s going to be a total snooze-fest…”

…

The message from Brigid caused Charlie’s phone to vibrate five times before the insistent buzz cut through her hung-over slumber.  Snatching it from the floor, she rolled over and tried her best to focus on the screen, despite the brutal glow.

Of course, having slept well into the afternoon on the day of an important work event, Charlie had nearly thirty messages languishing in 4G-limbo.  She got through five of them before tossing her phone on the futon and padding through the condo, hunting for someone conscious enough to go on a coffee run.

…

Heeding soft-spoken instructions from the staff, the party guests were now gathered in a loose semicircle beside the pond.  Across a small stretch of grass, the editors and the board of directors of Vague Magazine stood gathered together while a clutch of photographers snapped and flashed.  The battalion of ever-joyful servers was in the process of issuing everyone with a champagne flute.  Brigid’s hand tremble slightly as she took the stemmed glass.  It was so close now.

From her position toward the front of the crowd, between a man with an immaculately wrinkle-free suit and skin like a dried apricot, and a decidedly matronly woman in a disconcertingly flirty skirt, Brigid had an excellent view of the proceedings.  The toasts, offered by major players at the magazine, were a grand tradition of the Spring Picnic.  Samantha would be going first.

Across the span of many clandestine meetings, as their plotting evolved from fantasy pipe-dream to concrete plan, they had discussed at length about when would be the best moment to strike.  Obviously, doing it during the toasts made sense, as that practically guaranteed the attention of the crowd.  Also they had concluded it would be wise for the hit to go down during Samantha’s toast, giving her a good chance to look shocked and adding one last layer of deniability down the line.  Finally, Marlowe had championed the notion that it should happen as early into the toasts as possible; partially because the marshalling of the crowd and the distribution of booze would help ensure their contractor could enter unnoticed, and partially because nearly everyone was going to be zoned-out by the third toast.  So, when the opportunity arose, Samantha graciously volunteered to be the first speaker.

Now Samantha was stepping forward, a slender hand raised to quiet the murmurs of the audience.  As her own boss moved, Brigid caught sight of their target.  The editor in chief of Vague Magazine, wearing her trademarked mirrored-sunglasses, stood in the center of the group of executives and bigwigs.  A short woman, Mallory Winters looked positively tiny in her current company.   However looks were deceiving, as this small aloof-looking middle-aged woman wielded a startling amount of power in the world of fashion and culture.  But that was all about to change.

“Welcome, everyone!  We’re just so thrilled you’re all here sharing this beautiful day with us,” smiling disarmingly, Samantha began her toast, “on behalf of the entire magazine and all out corporate partners, I want to personally…  I’m sorry…  What’s that sound?”

As Samantha trailed off, the faint sound of music floated in, growing louder as it drew nearer.  Everyone in the park seemed to turn in unison toward the source of the interruption.  A lone figure was approaching from opposite the pond skipping along blithely.

Brigid gasped, not at the appearance of an interloper, but because she barely recognized the girl who called herself Minx.  Gone was the rude, scruffy character they’d met at the diner, in her place was a polished professional performer.  All of her piercings had been removed, and her lavender-colored hair looked bright and shiny, styled pin-straight and curled up at the ends.  She wore a black sequined tuxedo jacket, with matching pants, bowtie, and a glittery purple vest underneath, which left a swath of her taut pale midriff exposed.  As she skipped, she swung a large wicker picnic basket from one arm; the basket was closed, but the corner of a purple and white checkered blanket peeked out.  The music, a pinging, tinkling version of the iconic circus theme, seemed to be coming from the basket.  Her outfit was completed with a purple-banded top hat, a violet rubber clown-nose, and a dazzling smile.

The mysterious and brazen party-crasher reached the patch of grass separating the two groups gawking at her and set down her basket.  Doffing her hat, she threw it high into the air, leapt quickly into a cartwheel, sprang back to her feet and caught the hat as it fell.  Replacing the hat, she began a series of short bows to the audience.  The befuddled party-goers were at a complete loss, but a number clapped politely none-the-less.  Even more of them laughed lightly when, as the girl bowed deeply, her hat tumbled to the grass.  By now they were hooked; whatever this was, her confidence and the peer-pressure to appear in on the joke kept the crowd playing along.  At this point, nearly everyone was clapping and laughing, waiting to see what surprise would come next.   No one was smiling wider than Samantha Bogey.

Minx tossed her hat aside and crouched to open her basket.  As the circus music petered out, the girl stood up with a mischievously-angelic smile and an enormous cream pie balanced in each hand.  There was some nervous whispering from the crowd.  Brigid felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

Out of nowhere, a trumpet bleat cut across the park.  For the second time, the thoroughly nonplussed crowd swiveled curiously.  A little brightly painted cart, drawn by a white horse with a plumed head-piece, rolled to a stop nearby.  A very tall, very thin bald man in a patchwork coat hopped off the horse.  In addition to the harshly-colorful coat, he was wearing a large green Zorro-mask patterned with gold sunbursts and a traditional red clown nose.  Raising his empty, white-gloved hands to his mouth, he pantomimed playing a trumpet, and once more the sound echoed through the park in a short burst.  He rapped twice on the cart and a girl emerged from the rear.  She was tall and thin like the man, but clearly considerably younger, her lithe figure filling a pair of gold shorts and a loud peacock-paisley shirt.  She wore a mask as well, hers was gold with green moons, but skipped the rubber nose.  Her hair was a wild golden-blonde mane, a blend of loose locks and slender braids, some of which had tiny bells attached at the ends, causing her to jingle softly as she walked.  Both new additions to this impromptu show curtsied to the crowd, who in turn applauded, welcoming them happily as their preconceived expectation for the party continued to erode.

Brigid’s brows knit.  This was an unexpected turn.  She tried to make eye-contact with Samantha, but the other woman was staring hard at the trio of clowns, her smile tight.  Unexpected didn’t necessarily mean bad.  Minx had been given a lot of leeway in how she got the job done, so this had to be part of her plan…  However, Brigid couldn’t help but doubt herself when she looked at the purple-clad clown.  Previously the very picture of bold confidence, Minx was maintaining her smile, but couldn’t quite keep the uncertainty out of her eyes.

While the thin man began unloading a variety of things from the cart, the blonde girl took a jingling hop and launched into a string of one-handed cartwheels that put Minx’s prior display to shame.  The purple haired clown rolled her eyes and made a beeline for Mallory Winters, moving as fast as she could without looking suspicious or dropping the pies.  But before she was in throwing-range, she was intercepted.  The girl in gold did series of tumbles and popped up right in front of Minx.  That was the precise moment that Brigid knew, in her heart, that their plan was shot to hell.  Even then, it took a few more minutes for her brain to get onboard.

To her credit, Minx made a couple of very smooth, seemingly-casual attempts to juke around the other girl, but each time she was cut off.  The crowd assumed this was all part of the show, and both clowns did their best to keep them thinking that.  The ducked, dodged, and darted, and if you didn’t know any better, it did very much look like a rehearsed choreography.  The biggest giveaway, if you were close enough to notice it, was the rising flush coloring Minx’s cheeks.  As her frustration approached to point where she was ready to spend one of her pies to clobber this up-stager, Minx seemed to catch a break.  The girl in gold appeared to lose her balance, her feet spreading wide and her arms pin-wheeling.  As the other girl bent back into a contortionist’s bridge, Minx shuffled around and past, unable to resist sticking her tongue out at her secret opponent.  Her victory was short-lived however.  In a single fluid motion the girl in gold brought her legs up and over into a handstand.  As she dropped out of the pose, she deftly clipped Minx’s left elbow with her heel, causing the gloating clown to fumble one of the oversized pies, forcefully, right into her own face.

As an aghast Minx pawed at the cream and crust suddenly covering her, the crowd cheered gleefully.  Brigid felt the pit of her stomach drop out.  The thin man appeared to be setting up some sort of folding table, but she couldn’t get a good look due to the press of people watching the ‘performance.’ The girl in gold had produced a comically large handkerchief and was trying to help an irate Minx clean her face.  Minx, in turn, was doing her absolute best to keep the remaining pie away from this mystery girl.  It was difficult; whoever she was, she was damned good.

Brigid could see Samantha, on the other side of the improvised stage.  Her boss was still smiling, but it was looking strained.  She’d dropped her champagne flute and her hands were now at her sides, balled into tight fists.  Brigid scrolled frantically on her phone, not looking for anything in particular, but with a vague and faint hope that maybe one of the others had some kind of update.  Maybe one of them could explain what on earth was happening…

…

Cora tucked a few errant strands of blonde hair behind her ear as she descended the stairs to the subway platform.  The platform was slightly crowded, full of office workers returning from lunch.  She found an open spot on a bench and sat down, keeping her attaché case clutched close under one arm.

A little ways down the platform, a busker dressed as a robot was making the rounds, beeping and doing little dances for spare change or the odd small bill.  Cora prepared to avoid any eye contact, but queued-up a withering glare just in case.

The robot moved closer, and she could see just how shoddy the costume was.  Constructed entirely of cardboard boxes and plastic tubing spray painted silver, it had a slot cut into its flat front, with the equation $ = inked above.  The box that formed the head had two small flashlights serving as eyes, which flashed seemingly at random.  Moving with committed stiffness, the robot reached the part of the platform where Cora was waiting.  She dropped her gaze to her lap and ignored it.

However, she was surprised when the robot paused directly in front of her bench.  Risking a glance, she was surprised once again when the robot, in a rigid and jerky manner, produced a flower and presented it to her.  Granted, it was a clumsy origami flower crafted from a sheet of aluminum foil, but Cora was caught off guard all the same.

She sat still, blinking behind her glasses, for a few moments.  Suddenly she was aware that the rest of the commuters were watching them.  Cora brought out her best diplomatic smile and daintily accepted the flower with her free hand.

Before she could mutter ‘thanks’ or fish in her pockets for a few quarters, the robot’s other arm came around from behind its back.  This one was moving fast, and very un-robotically.  In its hand it held a silver pie tin brimming with whipped cream.  Cora saw the pie headed at her, her eyes widened, but she didn’t have any more time to react.

The pie smushed into her face, muffling her yelp.  Cream and thick chocolate sauce, which had previously been hidden by the topping, oozed out from around the edges of the tin.  The silver hand delivering the dessert slid the tin up over her forehead and back into her hair, leaving it propped and dripping upon her tight blonde bun.

Cora could feel cold cream and sticky chocolate dribbling down her neck.  Normally downright unflappable, she couldn’t muster a peep.  There wasn’t even any point in removing her pie-slathered glasses, as she was basically blind without them.  Had she been able to see clearly, she would have noticed a large number of people on the platform trying to discretely snap pictures with phones.  She also might have seen the robot hopping onto a train just before the doors closed and waving mechanically as the train left the station.

Sitting on a subway platform bench in a puddle of pie, clutching a tin foil flower, Cora’s first concern was not cleaning off her glasses, nor even was it the thought of walking back into the office looking like a disaster…  Her primary concern was finding out what was going on at the Vague Magazine Spring Picnic.

…

Brigid gave up scanning her phone.   No one had reached out, and even if they did, how could they possibly explain any of this?

The girl in gold, thus far silent save for the jingling bells in her hair, was making repeated, gracefully over-blown, attempts to take the remaining pie away from Minx.  Their sequined contract-clown, still dripping with cream and peppered with crust, was trying valiantly to keep that pie.  It all seemed somewhat futile though, as the gold-masked clown was clearly the superior one, both acrobatically and in terms of comic timing.  Each time it looked like Minx would be able to make her escape, the other girl did some seemingly-coincidental twist or turn, and messed everything up.  It still looked more like an elaborate production than duel of performers, but Brigid was worried about how much longer that would last.

She cringed as Minx, tripped up by a classic slapstick bait-and-switch, tipped over and landed on her rear, barely catching the pie before it fell to the ground.  The crowd was eating it up though, laughing at all the right places and having a grand time.

…

Marlowe was bored stiff.  As much as she was willing to be a team player, she desperately wished Samantha or Brigid would send her another update.  The anticipation was brutal.  She had just decided to scan social media for juicy tidbits about the party when she was interrupted.

“Jeez, you’re terrible.  If you can quit mooning over Twitter for five minutes, we might be able to finish this stuff up in time to make the end of the party…”

Marlowe grinned guiltily at Angela and set her phone aside.

“You’re right, you’re right!”

Angela heaved a sigh and spun around in her desk chair.

“You were supposed to say ‘Let’s just ditch and head over there.’ Bummer.  I’m going to grab a coffee, you want one?”

Marlowe waved her off.  The worst part was, she’d have loved nothing more than to race over to the park as fast as they could.  But the plan was the plan for good reason.  She’d just have to suck it up.  Turning in her own chair she gazed longingly out the window at the spreading city, wishing she had a giant telescope… and that they were in a room on the other side of the building.

Angela returned with a large box instead of coffee.

“Were you expecting something?  This was dropped off downstairs.  It’s kind of really heavy.”

“Huh.  I have no idea.  Put it on the table.”

She complied, setting the rectangular box on top of the spreads they were reviewing at the long work table.  Marlowe was glad to have any sort of distraction.  She grabbed a steel letter opener from her desk and returned to the table.  She slit the packing tape on either side and opened the thick cardboard flaps.

Angela sniffed the air quizzically, “Hey, do you smell curry?”

Outside on the window ledge, a brace of pigeons took flight in a flurry of feathers and alarmed coos, as something thick, wet, and yellow splattered against the inside pane.

On the other side of the window, Marlowe suddenly found her face, her dress, her hair, her everything, coated in some kind of runny, lumpy slop.  She wiped her eyes with her index fingers and caught a strong whiff of cumin and turmeric.  It was dhal.  Bright yellow lentil dhal.  And it was all over the place.

It had exploded from within the box still sitting on the now-yellow table.  Sodden pulses dripped down from a splashed patch of the drop-tile ceiling.  Angela appeared frozen in a prolonged gasp, half her face and one side of her head smeared with the projectile dhal.  Over by the door, the receptionist was staring, her jaw in her lap.

Marlowe pushed a handful of her curry-soaked hair off her face, shivering as the slimy side-dish squished inside her ample chest.  She just couldn’t even.  Somehow, though she would’ve denied the possibility not ten minutes ago, Marlowe now even more fiercely curious about what precisely was going on at the Spring Picnic than ever before.  She eyed the mess on the table.  Now if only she could find her phone…

…

As Minx got to her feet, practically hissing the girl in gold, Brigid couldn’t stand to watch any more.  This mystery clown was just toying with the girl in purple now, like a cat with a rubber mouse.  Brigid got up on her toes, trying to get a good look at whatever it was the thin man was doing.

It looked as though he’d set up a small table and a couple of folding chairs, and was now proceeding to dress the table with a few gaudy settings.  He brought a sort of limber grace to the menial tasks, like a lesser version of the economy of movement the girl in gold was using to drive Minx into a frenzy.  Brigid wished the other members of their secret group were here with her, if for no other reason than to help figure out what was happening.

…

Charlie had managed to find someone to send for coffee.  Now she sat and sipped it in an overstuffed armchair, half dozing and half wondering about her future.  For example, when she became editor in chief at the magazine, would she have to show up at the same time every day?  That seemed excessive.

She was engaged in the dozing part of this exercise when her phone rang.  Rang, as in, received a call.  It was a somewhat novel thing for Charlie, as easily ninety-percent of her communication not taking place in person was conducted over text or email.

“Hello?” She made it a bit more of a question than it needed to be.

The voice on the other end was chipper and nondescript.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.  I’m calling about your hot tub.”

“Oh?” Charlie had the hot tub installed on the balcony about six months ago, but she rarely used it.  In fact it spent most of the time under a tarp. “Is there a problem?”

“Well, that’s what I’m calling to find out.  Our system is giving us some abnormal readings for your unit.  It’s protocol to alert the owner and see if any maintenance is required.”

“I see…” Charlie paused, mulling that over, “I don’t think I was aware the hot tub was being monitored.”

“Oh sure, 24/7.  It’s a standard feature of the premium package.”

That explained it.  Charlie wasn’t always great about remembering details and specifics, but she absolutely knew that if there was a premium package available, that was the one she would have picked.

“So what’s wrong with the hot tub?”

“Well ma’am, I just make the calls, you’re going to have to take a look at it and let us know what you see.”

Charlie scowled slightly.  This was beginning to feel a lot like work.

“Fine…  I’ll call you back.”

“Terrific.  We can be reached at this number between…” She didn’t wait for the sentence to end before hanging up.

Ironically, had she in fact tried to call back, she would have discovered the number went to the courtesy phone in the lobby of a hotel four blocks from her condo.  Even Charlie Dash would have found that to be suspicious.

But instead, she left her phone in the chair and went to go check on the hot tub.  Charlie shook out her glossy brown hair and rolled her neck, feeling it pop.  Slinking through her condo, stepping around party-debris, she didn’t bother to belt the robe she wore over her bikini.   Some of her over-night guests had already left, the ones that remained mostly loafed around drinking coffee and bloody marys.  Someone was in the kitchen making eggs and burning toast.

Reaching the balcony, she slid the door open and slipped outside.  The hot tub was sunk into the center of the wide balcony.  A control panel was built-in beside it; there was a remote too, but Charlie had misplaced it.  A light blue cover tarp was stretched across the whole tub.

With a disinterested sigh, Charlie grabbed one end of the tarp and pulled it off.  Something immediately struck her as very strange, but she didn’t really have time to process what it was.  As she removed the tarp, she activated an air-horn which had been tucked into the shadow of the control panel and attached to the cover.  The horn let out a loud, flatulent blat, thoroughly startling Charlie.  She spun around in a shocked half-turn, over-corrected, and toppled backward into the hot tub.

It really was a premium model tub, a long roomy oval nearly four feet deep throughout.  Therefore, fortunately, there was plenty of cushion to keep Charlie from getting hurt.  Less-fortunately, the strangeness that she had detected but not had the chance to identify, was the fact that the water in the hot tub had been entirely replaced with oatmeal.

Charlie landed in the gloopy cereal and disappeared beneath the grainy surface.  She burst back up, spraying oats and slime over the balcony.  For nearly a minute she was stuck flailing in the mire, trying and failing to extricate herself from the heavy, sucking folds of her robe without the benefit of sight.  Her famously-beautiful body was practically buried in squelching mounds of over-boiled grains.

Finally wriggling free of the robe, Charlie managed to get to her knees.  The gorgeous model pressed her hands together and drew them up across her face in a squeegee motion, clearing clumps of oatmeal and slicking back her hair.  Her eyes fell on the door back into the condo, where a sizable group of last-night’s party guests were grouped, staring at her in various states of disbelief.  A number of them smiled sheepishly at her, phones in hand and still pointed at the hot tub.

Feeling something akin to embarrassment for the first time she could recall, Charlie groaned, allowing herself to sink back into the oatmeal up to her neck.  In the following days, Charlie would be asking herself a lot of questions, about how this had happened, and whether or not this bizarre mishap had anything to do with her first ever attempted-coup… However in the moment, one thought dominated all the rest; at least oatmeal is gluten-free.

…

Brigid’s attempts to figure out what the thing man was setting up were spoiled when the crowd around her erupted in a particularly loud bout of applause.  She turned back, just in time to see Minx flying briefly through the air, the second pie plastered firmly on her butt.  Their utterly-defeated lavender-haired contract-clown landed in the duck pond with a tremendous sploosh.  The sodden girl sat in the pond, rivulets of watery cream running down her face, jacket, and vest, her rubber nose floating a few feet away.  She threw up her hands in surrender and the crowd cheered once more.

That was it.  It was over.  Brigid was speechless.  What happened?  While the girl in gold took her bows, Brigid could see Samantha backing away slowly.  But before the Vague Magazine Director of Operations could slip away unnoticed, the masked clown spun on her heel and harpooned Samantha with a pointed finger.  She gestured for Samantha to come over.  The dark-haired executive smiled broadly and shook her head, doing her best impression of a polite declination.  The girl in gold did not accept this.  Bouncing on her toes, she encouraged the crowd to goad Samantha, the bells in her hair jingling with the movement.  Still smiling, but looking supremely tense, Samantha acquiesced to the crowd, stiffly joining the girl.

The thin man joined them too, and when Samantha reached the center of the ‘stage,’ he raised both arms into the air.  With a pop, confetti and streamers shot from his cuffs.  The girl pranced over to their cart and returned, bearing an enormous pink and white cake, with “Happy Birthday!” iced across the top. The crowd applauded happily.

Samantha Bogey was a rather private person, as such, Brigid knew that very few people knew when her birthday was, and those people also knew that it was nearly four months ago.  Whatever this game was, the crowd was clueless, and Samantha had little choice but to play along.  The girl set the cake on the little table and pressed something on the cart.  The music to the Birthday song started up, and the thin clown, waving his hands like a conductor, coaxed the audience into a halting rendition of the song.  Samantha’s smile was starting to look a bit queasy, Brigid could only imagine what she was thinking.  None of this was supposed to be happening.

Brigid’s phone vibrated.  She pulled it out as the crowd sang.  Well before everything had gone off the rails, Brigid had set a Google-alert for internet stories tagged ‘Vague Magazine’ and ‘pie-in-the-face.’  When she saw the story that had tripped the alert, her stomach turned a flip.  Cora had been hit with a pie while waiting for a train downtown.  A quick-on-the-draw gossip site already had a blurb up about it, complete with a gallery of pictures showing the frosty blonde financial wizard smeared with cream and what looked like chocolate.  Her heart in her throat, Brigid did a sweep of social media.  Nothing more about Cora, but her blood ran cold when she came across an entire Instagram thread full of pictures of Marlowe, coated in some greasy yellow gunk.  Finally, her knees went weak when she tapped a Vine, and was treated to a six-second-loop of Charlie Dash floundering in what certainly looked like a pool full of porridge.  There were dozens more posts for each event.

Her eyes shot up to Samantha, still standing hesitantly beside the two clowns as the crowd wrapped up their song.  She glanced at Mallory Winters, standing back with the rest of the executives.  Normally the woman was as impassive as a statue, but Brigid could swear she was grinning.  This was no longer a coup, it was a massacre of the conspirators.
She tried to get Samantha’s attention, as subtly as possible, but just as her boss seemed to notice her, the clowns were directing her gently over to the little table while the crowd cheered her on.  The thin man pulled the chair out for her with a bow and Samantha gingerly took a seat.

The girl in gold placed an over-sized candle in the huge cake and produced a lighter.  She flicked it twice, and a poof of flame shot into the air.  The audience laughed and Samantha cringed.  The girl tossed aside both the lighter and the candle, giving Samantha an apologetic gesture.  She placed a bowl and spoon on the table and snapped her fingers as though just remembering something.  Pulling out a pair of large pointed party hats, she put one on and quickly placed the other on Samantha’s head.  As Brigid watched, her boss straightened up peculiarly.  The girl in gold now had a big silver ice cream scoop, and was looking around frantically, like there was something she couldn’t find.  With a twitch, Samantha grabbed the party hat and lifted it off her head.  As she did, a deluge of pale green pistachio ice cream poured from the hat, spreading over her dark hair and leaking down her ears.

As the girl in gold clapped a hand to her head, Samantha squealed.  She put her hands on the table and moved to stand up, snarling.

“ALRIGHT!  That is IT…”

Just as Samantha began to rise, the girl in gold very delicately used her foot to tip the chair forward at a sharp angle.  This canted Samantha abruptly, cutting off her tirade.  Brigid covered her eyes as her beautiful boss plunged face-first into the giant pink and white birthday cake on the table.

The crowd gasped, but then a few chuckles grew into outright laughter.  Obviously this was all part of the show.  Samantha slowly lifted herself from the trough she’d ploughed in the dessert, practically unrecognizable under a thick mask of frosting and crumbled cake.  She made a half-hearted effort to wipe some of the sugary mess from her face, but only managed to blend it with the ice cream coating her head.  Samantha collapsed heavily into the folding chair with an exhausted sigh, while the girl in gold kept the laughter rolling by trying to scrape some of the smashed cake onto a plate.

Brigid suspected the right move might have been to go assist her boss…  But instead, she allowed her legs to lead her away from the merry crowd.  She went back, past the bar and the stage and the tables, heading for the park exit.  Of course, it was silly to think anyone would waste any time with her.  After all, she was just an assistant!  Barely a part of this silly little conspiracy in the first place…

Her excuses and justifications hit a wall, when she reached the entrance to the park, and found the tall thin masked clown, lounging against a drinking fountain and holding a large cream pie.  She gulped.

“Ah, uh…  Hello…”

The clown tipped an imaginary hat.

“Hi.” His voice sounded older than she would have guessed.  “Leaving already?”

“Yes, well… I have to…  Um…”  Brigid bolted mid-sentence, sprinting as fast as she could into the woods near the entrance.

Dodging trees and climbing over logs, she risked a glance over her shoulder.  The thin man was on her trail, loping along quite casually, whistling what she was pretty sure was “Nessun Dorma.” He called out to her, as he carefully side-stepped a patch of poison ivy.

“Hey look, it’s nothing personal, just business.  You know what you did.”

Brigid turned her head, ready to deny everything, when she tripped over a crooked root.  She pitched forward, splashing into a wide, shallow puddle.  Sputtering and soaked with muddy water, Brigid rolled over and turned to face her pursuer.  The thin man reached the edge of the puddle, propping one foot on the root and giving her a wry smile. He still held a particularly sloppy-looking pie balanced expertly in his hand.

Faint-jingling heralded the arrival of the girl in gold.  She appeared next to her partner in clowning, also smiling, and also holding a pie.

Brigid gulped nervously, trying to smoother her soggy hair and put on her most charming smile.

“Wait, hold on!  Look, wait!  You don’t have to do this.  Nobody will know!  I’ll tell everyone you did it.  It can be our secret!”

The girl with the bells in her hair was quite stunning up close, it bothered Brigid that a pang of jealousy would hit her at a time like this.  The girl in gold tapped her chin, pulling a pensive face.

“Hmm…” Her voice was quite soft and very pretty. “I wonder…  If a pie splats in a forest, and no one is around to see it, does it make a mess?”

The girl shrugged, and grabbed both pies, hurled both of them at Brigid in rapid succession.  Even from a few meters away, her aim was perfect.  The first pie crashed into her forehead and the second hit her square in the face.  Creamy filling and pulverized crust showered her.  Brigid’s mouth hung open, as the combined shock of a day packed with surprises finally settled.

Her reddish curls dangled limply, loaded down with pie pulp and puddle water.  Her seafoam dress was now a soggy greyish color, splotched with white cream.  Pleased with her efforts, the girl in gold revealed a glowing smile.  With a cheeky flounce, she turned and walked away.  The thin man smiled after her with something that looked like paternal-pride.  He gave Brigid a grin that was nearly apologetic.

“She takes her work very seriously.”  He gave her a wave and turned to go, leaving Brigid stewing in the puddle.

…

Following the events of the annual Vague Magazine Spring Picnic, which came to be known as both a complete disaster and the best one ever, Samantha Bogey resigned her position with the magazine.  She left the fashion world altogether and nearly disappeared from the public eye, going on to make a fortune in television.  She parlayed her experiences into an executive producer’s spot on a wildly successful cable program, a show combining competitive pranks with extreme baking.

Cora Huff had always considered it a possibility that their coup would fail, so her personal plans were not significantly affected.  She kept running the finance department for several years, until she was offered a seat on the magazine’s board of directors.  However, she was never again able to ride the subway without squirming slightly in her seat.

Despite different circumstances than planned, Marlowe Philips did end up succeeding Samantha as Director of Operations at the magazine.  She was happy to keep Brigid on as her assistant.  The two of them worked well together, provided each of them remembered to adhere to their mutual pact.  Under no circumstances was pie or Indian food to be allowed in the office.

Charlie Dash did not become editor in chief of Vague Magazine, much to no one’s chagrin, including her own.  Instead, she continued modelling and generally floating through life, eventually going into acting.  In fact, the only lasting consequence of her bid for power, was a small cultural footnote; Charlie can be identified as the origin of a short-lived fad for filling hot tubs with oatmeal.

Thanks to everyone who came along on this ride with Jo, Danny and Linda. I’d like to thank everyone who has given me feedback, especially to writingismylife on the WSA, wolf324 on Tellygunge, and a huge thank you to Nollvane on UMD – without whom this story would likely have never made it off my hard drive.

Warning: This story contains strong adult themes throughout.

Danny and Linda sat on the sofa, the threat letter in Linda’s hands. Danny with a reassuring arm wrapped round Linda’s shoulder, squeezing her close. Linda turning it over and over, every time she’d see those words

“I’m coming for you”

She’d feel sick.

Danny asked “Are you OK? I mean, the faint…”

Linda looked round at him, and despite the worried look on her face, said “I’m OK, I’m OK, you caught me”

Aside from the risk of Linda hitting her head from fainting, which Danny had averted through quick reactions, both knew that things were most definitely not OK.

Linda looked again at the letter, and said “Well, there’s no point pretending it’s not Jo – this is exactly her style, all these mind games, mental torture…”

“Are you certain?” asked Danny, helplessly. Both of them had been hoping it was a prank played by someone else, but they’d wracked and wracked their brains and no other plausible alternatives existed. Linda had just been voted as captain of the ladies’ five-a-side team, a spot vacated by Jo being dishonourably discharged for taking a bribe from another team, so if there was ever a reason for Jo to turn her fury on Linda, this would be it.

Linda looked at him, and with a conciliatory smile, said “Come on Danny, we both know it’s got to be…”

Danny, now worried, mused to himself “What do we do…?”

Linda replied “Well, we could call the police…”

Danny shook his head “It’s too soon – knowing her she’ll have thought of that and there’ll be no fingerprints on it, they need more evidence and history to build up a case…”

Linda shook her head helplessly, tears welling in her eyes “There’s got to be something we can do! It’s not fair, Danny, it’s just not!” she burst into tears and thrust her face into his shoulder, great sobs issuing forth as she cried helplessly. Pulling her close, Danny felt equally helpless. He’d just started to get so close to this wonderful girl, she’d made him feel twenty feet tall, like he could do anything; and now when she needed him he felt like he couldn’t protect her. Tears started to form in his eyes, and a lump in his throat to complement. Impotent fury bubbled within.

NO! He thought. THIS. WILL. NOT. STAND.

His mind, desperate for a solution, raced.

We’re dealing with a girl who knows no limits to her cruelty, no depths to her sadism. She only knows how to get what she wants through fear, manipulation, bullying. She knows no compassion and has no mercy. She only understands these things. She can’t be reasoned with, she will not do *anything* for anyone unless there’s something in it for her.

The idea hit Danny. “Linda…” he said, tentatively.

Linda continued to sob on his shoulder.

Danny gently lifted her head to look at him. Tears streaming down her cheeks, her eyes puffy. To him seeing her like this felt like a punch in the gut. And the idea that was forming was at once galvanised, armour-plated. If this is what he had to do, if these were the lengths he had to go to in order to protect this girl, then so be it.

“I think I know what needs to be done”

Linda looked back at him, puzzled “What?”

Danny swallowed, and said “I need to go talk to her… I know! I can’t just reason with her, talk her out of whatever she’s planning, she won’t listen when she’s got her mind set on revenge – but I think I can bargain with her”

Linda, still confused, said “So, what, pay her off?”

Danny thought for a second, the minutiae of the plan still yet to fall into place – “I’m not sure that’ll work either, once she’s had a bit what’s to stop her coming back for more money? No, she wants to make threats – then, I’m worried the only way to counter that is to sink to the same level as her…”

Linda looked admonishingly at Danny and said “No, Danny, I won’t…”

Danny interrupted “You won’t need to do anything. Just… just let me go and try and handle it. I have some ideas. I have certain… skills… for which I don’t think she has anything to come back at me. Just let me go and try, I promise I’ll try and reason first. If that doesn’t work, *then* I’ll move to plan B”

Linda looked troubled by this. Danny squeezed her tighter “I *have* to do what I need to do to keep you safe, I promise I will make this go away”.

Linda started to cry again, and sobbed “Oh Danny…”, moving in for a kiss and pulling him so tight she never wanted to let go again.

***

Two days later, Danny was stood at the end of the road on which he was fairly sure Jo lived. He’d been able to sneak a look at the student records system to find out her address. She’d not yet left the university town – clearly she wanted to clear up her unfinished business, thought Danny humourlessly.

He’d stopped by a pub on the way over – and had a dram or two of whisky – something to settle his nerves, but leave him relatively clear-headed. Take the ol’ edge off… He needed to be able to think straight, this undertaking was putting him way more out on a limb than anything he’d ever done before.

Feeling the weight of his laptop in his rucksack strapped to his back, he took a deep breath, started down the street. Each step, he felt shaky, the alcohol only doing so much to dilute the cocktail of adrenaline and fear pumping round his entire body. Reaching Jo’s door, he steeled himself, marched up and sharply knocked the knocker.

He heard motion from inside, but after a minute the door remained steadfastly shut. Knocking again, for a more prolonged period of time, he waited and listened. He half turned, to give up on this attempt. He’d have to resort to following her to know when she’d be in. But then the memory of Linda’s tear-streaked face and the fear she clearly felt, as well as Jo leaning down to taunt him while he’d been tied up, helpless, naked, covered in all manner of disgusting mess, made him see red. He whirled round and with his fists balled tight hammered on the door, screaming “Jo! I know you’re in there! Open the door! JO! Open this door, NOW!”

From inside he heard footsteps getting closer, Jo shouting back “Alright, ALRIGHT! I’ve got your money…” as she opened the door. Danny didn’t hesitate; he pushed past her into her house.

“What the fuck?!” exclaimed Jo

“We need to talk” shouted Danny back as he blew past her like a tornado and moved into the living room where he stood, turned and waited for Jo to join him.

“Who the…” started Jo, moving into the living room, her face suddenly flashing anger when she registered who had just forced their way into her house “You! What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Ha, I didn’t recognise you with your clothes on and without a ton of food covering you…”

“Shut up!” said Danny firmly, wrenching hard to get his anger under control. “You need to listen to me… I know it was you who sent that threatening letter to Linda”

Jo’s face betrayed nothing, but her anger subsided, and a humourless smirk instead formed on her face. “What… letter?” she said, innocently.

Danny, the adrenaline and rage subsiding, made a conscious effort to cool himself. Getting angry would only cause him to make a mistake, and play into her hands. Keep it cool, keep it calculated, keep it logical. “Don’t bullshit me Jo – I know you sent that letter…”

“And if I did, what’s it to you?” asked Jo derisively. She looked at Danny critically for a moment, and realisation dawned. With a delighted laugh she clapped her hands “Oh my god! You’re fucking her, aren’t you?”

Danny couldn’t help but rise to the taunt. “You’re just a bully! Looking down on everyone, pushing them around! You think you’re so powerful but you’re just a lonely, spiteful, bitch!”

Jo stopped in her tracks. Her eyes, wide, looked in amazement at Danny. Her mouth trembled for a second…Then she exploded into laughter, laughter so hard she bent double. Danny looked at her, puzzled “What?!”

Jo wiped the tears that had formed in her eyes as she finished laughing, and said “Oh my god, Danny – thanks for that, I haven’t laughed so hard in ages. I almost feel sorry for you” Her expression turned hard, her mouth turned down at the corners in a sneer again “This isn’t the movies, did you actually think saying that – I’d be all like ‘Oh God, you’re right, my parents never loved me, I was bullied so I bully other people… I just want to be loved…’. No such luck, dickhead! Yes, I’m a bully, I get what I want, and I’m fucking *proud* of it”

Danny bristled but kept his anger under control at being laughed at – he had to give her one more chance… “Now listen, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. I’m going to ask you nicely – just drop it. Leave Linda alone, surely there’s nothing left for you here, move on and find somewhere new”

“Oh right?!” she said derisively, one eyebrow arched. Coming right up into Danny’s face, she glared at him menacingly and prodding a finger sharply into his chest – said “…and just what are you going to do if I tell you both to go fuck yourselves?” Her words dripped with disdain.

Danny smiled back at Jo, with little actual humour. He was glad he’d come prepared – he hadn’t underestimated her. If you want peace, prepare for war…

“Then, we do things the hard way…” said Danny, looking back at Jo, his resolve firm. Unstrapping his backpack he removed his laptop, and opening it to start it up he set it down on the coffee table in the centre of the room.

Jo’s face looked like she’d just bitten into some extremely sour fruit – “Ooooh, a computer, what are you going to do, send an email to complain?! Get out of my house!”

Danny interrupted “Well, I could send an email to everyone on campus, just, I’d attach *these* pics”

Double-clicking on an icon, a slideshow started up. Pictures of Jo were displayed on the screen – all in extremely compromising positions. All involved one, indeed sometimes, several, men, and an abundance of naked spreadeagled flesh, and in some cases, spilled fluids.

Jo’s eyes widened for a second “What?! Those, those aren’t real… That stuff never happened… They’re fake! How the fuck did you make those? They’re not REAL!” Jo’s temper flared.

Danny smiled back at Jo, this time enjoying her reaction, her loss of control – “Yes, they’re fake. But… will everyone else know that? I have a skilled hand with Photoshop, and more can just… appear…”

Jo’s face suddenly contorted from derision into anger, and she spat “Well, they can just as quickly disappear!” Lunging forward she seized the laptop by the screen, and with an primal guttural growl smashed the body of the laptop against the wall, then against the coffee table, shattering it into pieces.

Danny ducked as a piece flew off and narrowly missed him.

Danny’s temper again flared internally as he watched Jo destroy the laptop, but he remained outwardly impassive.

Jo gave Danny a maniacal grin, and triumphantly laughed. She’d nipped that little plan in the bud, hadn’t she! Danny’s impassiveness riled her somewhat, so she got back in his face and taunted “Well, that didn’t work, did it?! What the fuck are you going to do now, huh, Danny-boy? You think you’re so smart… you come here and try and make threats, to me… ME! You don’t have a clue who the fuck you think you’re dealing with…”

Danny waited for her ranting to finish, before calmly stating “No Jo – *You* really don’t get it, do you?”

Jo looked taken aback momentarily, as Danny continued “You really don’t have a *clue*… Yes, you’ve destroyed my laptop” a note of irritation crept into his voice, he hadn’t foreseen that “but, those pictures are stored online, I can get at them from anywhere”

Jo now did look lost. Her eyes darted back and forth, she was confounded. What?! This didn’t make sense; no-one got the better of her! Sure, she’d never been much good with technology, using email was about as far as she’d ever gotten, but when it came to pictures and that kind of thing she was much more a polaroid or instant camera type of girl.

Danny, seeing Jo’s puzzlement, had been having the same kind of internal monologue as Jo – so, she wasn’t very tech-savvy? Danny reflected gratefully how much worse his humiliation at her hands would have been if she was, his humiliation would likely have been a video hosted all over the internet if she had been. Jo was exactly the kind of girl who would be all over revenge porn if she got a handle on the technology.

Danny took the initiative with Jo wrong footed and said firmly “Jo – it’s very simple. Drop whatever you have in mind for Linda, leave her alone, leave this town and don’t ever contact us again. If you don’t – those pictures will be all over the university intranet, and from there, out into the wider world. Do you really want prospective employers seeing those when you go to apply for a job?”

Linda stared hard at Danny. She let out a little laugh to herself. Despite herself, she was impressed. She didn’t think Danny had it in him, she didn’t think he’d have the *balls* to come and swing toe-to-toe with her, the alpha bitch. But he did, he’s certainly grown a set, she thought to herself.

She appraised him for a moment – staring at him. Danny met her stare equally, and didn’t blink.

There was a long, loaded pause.

For the first time in a long time, Jo backed down. “Fine” she said distastefully “I’ll tell you what – I’ll leave your precious girlfriend alone – if, you…” and Jo’s mouth puckered like she was rolling a slice of lemon round it before she spat out the unfamiliar words “…help me”

“Help you?!” said Danny, not believing his ears.

Jo regained her composure and resumed her negotiation, never one to be wrong-footed for long if she could turn the situation back to her advantage – “You’ve got skills that I can make use of – you’re clearly very good with computers, I’ve never gotten all that stuff. I could do so much more with your help. I’ll leave Linda alone, but you help me get my revenge on Sharon, Ruth and Wendy”.

Danny’s eyes widened. He broke eye contact with Jo, turning and stepped over to look out of the bay window at the front of the house as he thought it over.

Pressing the initiative, Jo stepped up behind him and said quietly in his ear “Those three, they all poured that disgusting gunk all over you, they helped tie you up, they were just as much a part of your humiliation – they deserve to get what’s coming to them. Help me give them what they deserve”.

Danny shook his head, albeit hesitantly. He’d known they were sorry from when he saw them outside the office when the captaincy had been announced, although a large part of him wanted to agree with Jo that they did deserve some payback.

Seizing on the feeling she was swaying Danny – Jo could tell taking the “softly softly” approach was getting through, she saw another opening. Unseen by Danny, she reached up to the bottom of the fine pale blue tank top she was wearing and lifted.

“You’ve been through so much, you deserve a bit of happiness”

Danny only stared out of the window and swallowed harder. Internally, he did still harbour some resentment at the other three. Linda had made amends, Jo was trash and worthy only of disdain, but those other three, they were weak! They could have put a stop to his humiliation at a moment’s notice! Maybe they did deserve a little payback…

Jo whispered softly in Danny’s ear “You know – I can sweeten the deal even further…” and took him by the shoulder to turn him round.

Danny gasped softly, his breath caught in his throat. Jo had removed her tank top, and the denim shorts she’d been wearing, and those along with her underwear lay in a pile on the floor. Jo stood naked in front of Danny once again, just like that midnight tryst in the ladies’ showers. Danny couldn’t tear his eyes away from this beautiful body. Jo’s personality was as vile and poisonous as could be, but the body that carried it around was akin to a Greek goddess. Danny felt weak at the sight of this beautiful girl, and internally, conflict raged, conflict between disgust and arousal. Her fine long blonde hair cascaded in waves down past her shoulders, nearly to her breasts – round and smooth, standing proud, each topped with a firm pink nipple. Her skin was a healthy pink glow without blemish, her tummy was toned and flat, and met those long toned slender legs at her womanhood, crowned with a small neat bush of blonde curls and (his memory stirred, such an amazing pair of pert smooth buttocks). She was a woman in her prime, flawless. Sexuality seemed to ooze from her every pore in that perfect skin.

Jo stepped up to Danny and kissed him hotly, pushing her tongue into his mouth. Electricity coursed through Danny’s body, followed by a wave of ice water. He didn’t kiss back, but he didn’t push her away either, the warring emotions were still fighting it out inside. Jo didn’t hesitate – she slid down his body to his flies, unzipped them, fished inside his boxers and pulled out his penis. A couple of quick strokes and Danny was fully hard, he was ashamed to admit. He looked up at the ceiling, unable to look at Jo, but equally unable to resist. She looked up at him,

“A whole world of erotic possibilities, you and me, just say the word…” and took his erect cock in her mouth.

Danny let out a loud moan “Oh, GOD!”, both arousal and anguish, and his head fell backwards. Images flashed through Danny’s mind – Jo on her knees in the gents toilets, doing what she was doing to him right now, her hands working his balls while that wonderful warm wet mouth went to town on his manhood. His imagination ran free – the possibilities he and Jo could explore if he just took her offer! He visualised himself fucking her athletically from behind on her bed, the two of them watching their reflections copulate in the mirror on the far wall, then next she astride him, her breasts bouncing as she furiously pistoned up and down on his throbbing member, one hand lasciviously diddling between her legs. What a garden of delights he and Jo could navigate if only he said “yes”. Sexual gratification beyond his wildest dreams with this beautiful girl!

But then, unbidden; other images came to him – Linda’s tear-streaked face as she held the letter; Jo’s mocking laughter looking down on him as Danny struggled against his bonds tied to the chair; Linda laughing as she and Danny smeared mud all over each other.

NO.

Danny’s eyes shot open, and he pushed away from Jo and moved to the doorway of the lounge. Zipping himself up, grimacing as his erect manhood pressed uncomfortably hard against the crotch of his jeans, he said “No, this isn’t going to work, not again!”

Jo stood, and coming back to Danny, keeping up the soft and sensual demeanour said “What do you mean; I just want to make you happy…”

“NO!” he said, firmly. “I love Linda! You hear me! I. Love. Linda!” his voice rising in volume as he ecstatically admitted it to Jo, and to himself. Still running on adrenaline, he continued “I’ve told you Jo – you stay away from her, or else I will make *damn* sure you pay!” Danny stormed out of Jo’s house, slamming the door shut. Jo stood.

Fuck.

Cursing to herself, she put her clothes back on.

***

Danny practically ran back to Linda’s house, and knocking urgently on the door, Linda opened it. Danny ran at Linda, sweeping her off her feet and holding her up in the air. “I love you!” he practically shouted with an enormous grin “I love you, oh, and I sorted it”

Linda had looked sad prior to that, but now her face softened, her knees felt weak, and she smiled the happiest smile Danny had ever seen.

“Oh Danny, I love you too…” she replied happily, and the two fell to the floor, kissing passionately. They kissed for minutes, lost in the ecstasy of their confession, before Linda helped Danny to his feet, and pulling him close, wrapping her arms around his shoulders she placed her head on his chest “You sorted out… Jo?”

“Yes” he smiled “But there’s something we need to do…”

***

The flames danced as the threat letter was burnt. Linda felt like she wanted to dance as well, she felt so free, so happy, so… in love. Placed outside in her barbecue, they’d covered it in lighter fluid and burnt it. This was the symbolic gesture Danny wanted Linda to make, to symbolise Jo disappearing from their lives like the smoke up into the sky. Jo pulled Danny close and pushed her soft lips to his once more, sharing a deep kiss.

“So what would you like to do tonight?” asked Linda with a broad smile.

Danny looked away for a second, and then looked awkward. With a smile he gently said to Linda “You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?”

Linda looked momentarily confused, and then very disappointed “Awwww, Danny! Do you have to go to that student conference? Can’t you stay here, with me?”

Danny laughed for a second, he’d love nothing more. But it was his responsibility as RAG president to attend the national student conference, which meant he had to stay away from Linda for 3 whole days. “I’m sorry, I really am, but you know it’s my duty…”

“Awwww I know!” she said, grudgingly, pulling him close for another kiss “It’s just – could the timing be any worse?”

Danny gave her a sympathetic smile, and said “Well, I promise, we’ll make up for it when I get back”

“Oh we will” grinned Linda.

Bidding Danny farewell so he could go and pack, Linda shut the door, and thought Oh yes, I’ll make it up to him alright. With a giggle to herself and a clap of her hands in excitement, she ran off to plan, this might take a couple of days to organise, time to go shopping...

***

Linda stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel round herself, and laying on her bed to relax for a minute. Danny came back today – she’d prepared everything…

Danny, meanwhile, had just stepped off the coach back from the student conference. He looked at his phone, a text from Linda had arrived:

“My love. I’ll give you a couple of hours to rest, but make sure you conserve your energy. Please come to mine for dinner at 7pm sharp, you might need all your energy, I promise I’ll give you a night you’ll never forget ;-)”.

Danny smiled at his phone, and resisted the urge to punch the air in amongst all the others filing off the coach. What had Linda got planned for him?

***

Arriving at Linda’s house in the evening, he’d dressed in a smart collared shirt, trousers and polished black shoes, wanting to impress Linda. He could hardly wait to see her; it felt like years since they’d seen each other. Walking up her path to the front door he found the door unlocked. Pushing it open, puzzled, he called “Linda?” as he walked into the hall. He then saw on the ground a trail of candles. Smiling to himself, he obediently obeyed their silent instruction and followed their trail into the dining room where he sat at the one chair by the table, his back to the door. Linda entered stealthily behind him, and tied a silk sash round his eyes, blindfolding him. Gently she took him by the hand and guided him upstairs to her room; he can hear the floor rustle as he steps inside. Linda uncovered his eyes and Danny blinked as his eyes adjusted. The room was candlelit, and the floor and the bed were covered with plastic sheeting. He could see bowls laid out on most of the surfaces in the bedroom. A quick peek inside revealed a bowl of chocolate syrup on the dresser, as well as strawberry custard, toffee yoghurt and strawberry Angel Delight. Linda stood in front of him in a black silk kimono with red rose patterns on it, and said

“I thought we might skip over the main course and jump straight to dessert”.

He smiled and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms round her, gently caressing the smooth silk of her kimono round her waist and down to her bum which he squeezed, as their lips locked once more. After another passionate kiss, Linda broke away from him, and continued

“Sweetheart, I thought it might be only fair if you were able to gain a small measure of revenge for what I did to you that night in the changing rooms”, as she smiled. She undid the sash on the kimono and let it fall to the floor.

Danny’s breath caught in his throat for a moment as he took in what she was wearing – a royal purple push-up bra and matching purple thong trimmed with fine black lace. She’d been shopping alright, both at the fancy underwear boutique, and the supermarket dessert aisle… He stepped to her and pushed his tongue into her mouth as she opened it to accept it, him holding the soft naked flesh of her waist and again getting a good squeeze of her bum as she excitedly ground her body against his; she was feeling pretty frisky already. She held herself back from pushing him to the floor and having her way with him right there and then and instead indicated the four poster bed – which had two silk sashes tied to the top bedposts. Danny looked at them quizzically, then back at Linda

“Well, as I said, what I did to you, you get to do to me…” she said, seductively. She lay down, and moved her hands towards the sashes. Dan crawled up and gently bound her wrists to the bedposts, so now he had her under his control. He kissed her once more, and as they drew apart from the kiss, he looked into her eyes, the candlelight reflected in her sparkling green eyes as she smiled beautifully at him.

Her eyes suddenly went big, and took on a mock scared face as she tensed up and, putting on an affected “’40s damsel in distress” voice – said “Oh, you monster! You have me, tied up and at your mercy, with all this messy ammunition at your devilish disposal. Whatever are you going to do to me, you fiend?”

Danny chuckled to himself, oh, role play, was it? OK, whatever worked for her…

Putting on his best “villain” voice, he said “Sweets for the sweet, my dear… I have you at my mercy, but you look a little flushed… I think you could use some cooling down…” before getting up, grabbing a bowl and emptying toffee custard into her briefs.

She squealed with shock as she felt the sweet goo nestle inside her underwear, nestling snugly against her crotch, and creeping down into her bum crack. She struggled sexily against her bonds, causing her chest to jiggle inside the bra but she had no real intention of escaping.

“Oh you beast! You’ve ruined my underwear! I now have toffee custard seeping aginst my derriere and nestling against my… my…” Linda struggled for a character-appropriate word “…hoo-hah”

They shared a laugh at Linda’s struggle to not say “pussy”; this situation was their relationship in a nutshell, romantic, sweet, funny, and now…finally! Very very sexy as well.

Danny stood back up, and pulling his shirt off, to leave him bare chested, stepped over to the chest of drawers by the window where the cache of messy ammunition stood. He stood at the window for a moment, gazing out over the view of the streets below, seeming to search for something.

“What’s the matter?” asked Linda, momentarily dropping character.

Danny snapped out of whatever reverie he was caught in, and turned back to Linda before smiling and saying

“Nothing, just taking it all in, how amazingly lucky I am”, before picking up a bowl of the strawberry-flavoured custard. “Are you hungry, milady? Let me feed you…” He knelt astride the girl, and using his fingers, fed her a small amount of it, Linda gently and sensually licking his fingers as he brought them to her mouth. He then took a handful, and smeared it over his own naked chest, wincing slightly at the cold, his nipples stiffening, and then leant down towards her mouth to let her lick and suck it off of him. After she’d cleaned his chest, he bent down to kiss her again and share a taste of the strawberry custard.

“Mmmm, you taste divine” he smiled. Putting down the bowl, on the bed, his hands caressing the soft creamy skin of her shoulders, her reached round her back and unfastened her bra, pulling it off to expose her naked breasts. Tossing the bra aside, he gently kissed around her breasts, sucking gently on her nipples as Linda’s head fell backwards and her eyes shut in pleasure. Straightening up, he looked back over at the chest of drawers where the sweet gunge she’d provided for him to use on her had been placed, and suddenly burst out laughing.

“What is it, my lord?” she asked, smiling at him.

Danny, sniggering, replied “Your brassiere, milady – when I threw it, it landed in a bowl of custard”

Linda burst out laughing too, and Danny buried his face in her shoulder, hugging her tightly as the two giggled together.

As their laughter subsided, Linda looked at Danny lovingly, and said “Why don’t you take those trousers off?” Danny stood, and did as she asked, leaving Danny in only his boxers with a very prominent tent pole visible in the front.

Danny went to the cache of supplies and grabbed a squirt bottle of chocolate syrup; standing over his beautiful girlfriend her surveyed her gorgeous form, naked apart from a pair of purple panties, from out of which toffee yoghurt was still seeping. He uncapped the bottle, and slowly drew a smiley face on her naked flesh – one blob on each nipple for the eyes, the line for the nose between her breasts and a big smile on her tummy. They both chuckled again before Danny bent down and using his mouth and tongue started removing it, causing Linda’s giggles to turn to a soft moan of pleasure as his warm mouth closed over her sensitive nipples. He grabbed another bowl of strawberry Angel Delight and, scooping out two great handfuls, plopped them both onto her boobs, massaging the smooth pink goo into her breasts, playing with her nipples, before getting to work with his tongue again to taste the strawberry dessert, no sweeter than the taste of her creamy skin and her nipples, firm with desire.

After this, he decided it was time to remove the last of his girlfriend’s clothes, and grasped the waistband of her panties. Linda pushed her hips off the bed to allow Danny to pull them down. “Urgh, what a mess” laughed Danny, before bending down, throwing Linda’s legs over his shoulders and showed her pleasure with his tongue the likes of which she’d never before known.

Bringing Linda to the verge of an enormous orgasm, Danny stood to take off his boxers, dropping them to the floor and smirking at Linda squirming in frustration at being so close but denied release. Now fully naked in front of her; Linda could wait no longer

“Come here and get inside me, I want you”.

Just as Danny was about to move into position and mount Linda, with one knee on the bed, he paused. He then stood up and got back up off the bed, and said

“No. You know, I don’t think I want to” and getting up; began to put his clothes back on.

Linda, frowning, suddenly got very confused.

“Why? What’s the matter?”

Danny regarded her critically, as if he was looking for something.

“Danny? Danny? What’s the matter?”

Danny didn’t respond, he just looked at her, his mouth moving wordlessly as if to work out some conundrum.

“Danny?! Talk to me! You’re starting to scare me…”

Linda was starting to feel very uncomfortable – something wasn’t right…

Linda struggled against her bonds, but discovered Danny had done a good job and done them up tight – she couldn’t free herself! As she lay there naked and covered in gooey food, a shadowy figure appeared at the doorway, silhouetted against the light in the hall.

Danny smiled at this new arrival, while Linda could only say in shock “Who’s… who’s there?”

Danny stood up and went to the mysterious figure, and the two of them shared a kiss in the candlelight. Linda felt a sudden lurch in her stomach, as if the bottom had dropped out of her world. The dancing flames of the candles revealed that the person who’d entered the room and was now kissing Danny was Jo!

The very exposed Linda demanded

“Jo?! What are you doing here?! Danny?! Get away from her! Help me!”

Jo pulled apart from Danny, and holding Danny’s hand and looking at Linda with a humourless smile that showed far too many teeth, explained

“You know – this kinky little fucker actually enjoyed being humiliated in the changing rooms that night. He came to me to try and threaten me into not coming after you, but I knew he couldn’t resist me – he’s been texting me for days begging me to take him as my sex slave”

Linda thought before the bottom had dropped out. Now a wave of nausea came over her as the bottom of her world, way lower, really did fall out.

Jo smiled again “He’ll do whatever I ask him to, whenever I ask him to, and if he’s good, I might even let him *come* as well. All I asked in return was my chance to get revenge. On you! We’ve been waiting for the right moment, he texted me to tell me about tonight and how you’d give him a night he’d never forget. When he stood at the window a moment ago that was the signal for me to enter”.

“I don’t understand!” cried Linda, feeling sick “Danny, I love you!”

Danny turned to Linda and gave her a chilling smile, devoid of affection “Sorry babe, it was fun…but… it’s over”

“But…!” started Linda, tears welling up in her eyes as she began to cry.

“Awww, Linda, don’t cry” mocked Jo, “This really will be a night we’ll never forget, and neither will all the guys who’ll give you attention now”

“What?!” said Linda, with tears running down her cheeks

“They won’t be able to resist you after everyone’s seen *this*” said Jo, pulling out a digital camera and snapping a picture of Linda, naked on her bed, covered in gunge, with tears streaming down her cheeks.

Jo continued, her victory assured – as Linda sobbed

“Now this will be all over the university intranet. You see, I can’t have you taking my place as captain of the team, I worked hard to get there, and I’m not having a little slut like you just stealing what’s mine. You took my captaincy; I’m taking your boyfriend, *and* your dignity. Remember – *get in my way, and get trodden on*”. Laughing, Jo pulled shut the door of Linda’s bedroom, and snapping her fingers, had Danny follow her. Linda’s sobs grew in volume as she called out for Danny, screaming his name, but he impassively followed Jo out of the door, shutting it behind him – shutting out Linda’s racking sobs and one final, desperate cry for Danny, but she was trapped within, alone.

Note:  So this story is inspired directly by TG’s excellent take on the stereotypical American high school story (Slime Travelers).  Fair warning, this initial part is all groundwork, no mess yet.  Enjoy. 

10 April, 2016, 11.25 GMT

“Are you lost?”

The man jumped.  He turned and, spotting her, ducked into the room.

“Lost?  What makes you say that?”

“Nothing in particular.  You just seem a bit lost… doctor.”

The man wore a white lab coat and a stethoscope around his neck, even had a clipboard.  But he wasn’t wearing any ID that she could see, and she’d just watched him walk back and forth past her door seven times before she said something.

“Well, I’m not lost.  Temporarily misplaced maybe, but certainly not lost.”  The man grinned at her wryly.

Molly Baker smiled back.   The man was tall and slender and handsome.  Maybe today just got interesting.

“Hey,” he said, as if seeing Molly for the first time. “You’re a nurse?”

Molly brushed her pale blue scrubs.

“Well it’s not a fashion choice.”

“Splendid!  Would you consider lending me a hand?  You see I left something in one of these rooms, but I can’t remember which one.  Seems they all look alike.”

“Mmm.  This wing is supposed to be closed for renovations.  What were you doing over here in the first place?”

The man lifted an eyebrow.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Molly shrugged.  She was short and pale, with a heart-shaped face and big hazel eyes.  Her hair was bleach-blonde, and only just showing dark at the roots, done up in a plait that reached her collar.  Her scrubs were worn over a tight tank top that showed off her rather perky bust, which at the moment, she wished was a little more evident.  Molly had only been a nurse for a few months now, and so far she found it to be a total bore.  Currently, she was seated on the reclining bed in an empty hospital room, her feet dangling over the edge.

“Fair enough.  I was just looking to get away for a few minutes,” she brandished her phone with a half-pout, “Busted, I guess.”

“How about a bargain?  You help me out, and I won’t report you to the authorities.  Deal?”

She hopped off the bed and stuck out her hand, it was small in his grip.

“You’ve got a deal, Doc.  Molly Baker.  How may I be of assistance?”

…

10 April, 2016, 11.35 GMT

Ten minutes later, Molly stopped in front of a room, presenting it to the doctor with a flourish.

“Here we are.  The room where they stuck all the wheelchairs.  You were looking on the wrong side of the wing.”

“Of course.  Thank you very much.  You’ve been an extraordinary help.”

He opened the door, then paused, looking over his shoulder.

“Say, Molly Baker, how do you feel about adventure?”

Molly smiled, batting her eyes a little.

“I suppose I’m a fan. Can’t say I get much of it around here though.  But I like the idea.”

He ushered her into the room, then closed the door, checking the hall furtively.

“Molly, I have a confession to make…”

“Go on then.”

“I don’t work at this hospital…”

She feigned a gasp of shock, covering her mouth with both hands.

“In fact… I’m not even human.”  He said it with a completely straight face.

Molly just stared at him, searchingly.

“I mean, I guess effectively I am.  I can take human form when it’s convenient.  But technically I am alien to this world.  I’m a sort of nomad you see.  We call ourselves Time Barons, and we travel the galaxy, galaxies really, exploring through space and time…”

“Aw, shoot.  And I had such high hopes for you…  Please, at least tell me you escaped from somewhere in THIS hospital.  Because if you wandered in off the street to have your nervous breakdown I’m going to have to do a ton of extra paperwork and…”

The man interrupted her by pulling a small silver remote from the lab coat.  He pressed a button, there were two quick beeps, and suddenly this… thing appeared in the room.

It was big and silver and shaped like an elongated egg, but flat on the bottom where it sat on the floor.  The mysterious man pressed another button.  There was a hiss, and with a small wisp of steam, a round hatch on the object slowly swung up and out.  Inside it was dark, but Molly could see dozens of glowing dials and colorful flashing buttons.

“Still think I’m mad?”

“As a hatter.  But now I also think you might be telling the truth.”

“Cross my hearts and hope to die.”  He held up his right hand solemnly.

She fixed him with a brow-knit stare.

“Just kidding.  Only one heart.  That’d be weird.  So what do you think of my ship?”

Molly stepped over to the space-egg.  The top of it came up to her shoulder and she was all of 5’6”.  Tentatively, she stroked the shiny silver surface.

“Does it have a name?  These things always have names, right?”

“I call her the KANG.”

“What’s that stand for?”

He scratched the back of his head.

“Eh, nothing…  Just thought it sounded cool…”

“Oh yeah, yeah, no, it does.  I like it.  Is she fast?”

“Heh.  Who needs fast, when you’re traveling through time?”  He gave her a rakishly dashing smile. Suddenly, he pulled out an incongruous gold pocket watch and glanced at the face.

“Alright Moll, I’m due to leave. You up for a spot of adventuring?  Time to make up your mind.”

“How come?  Why me?”

“Gets lonesome.  All the most fantastic sights, the most amazing places; everything gets dull after a while.  Bringing somebody along livens things up.  And you seem like fun.”

Molly bit her lower lip.

“Oh, I’m not sure.  You can like, go to the past and all that?”

“Headed there now, matter of fact.”

“Hmm…  The hospital will have my arse, cutting out mid-shift, not to mention the NMC…”

“It’s up to you, of course.  But they don’t have to know you were gone at all.  Time machine, remember?  I can bring you back, to this very spot, fifteen minutes ago.  Nobody’s the wiser.  You’re choice, but I really have to get going….”

A wide smile spread across Molly’s face.  Yeah, she thought, why not?

“Ok then, I’m in.  Let’s go!”

…

28 March, 1570, 09.16 GMT

Molly stepped awkwardly out of the oblong ship.  Once outside, she set about cracking her back and popping her shoulders.  It had been a cramped ride.

“Gee, Doc, I’m amazed we both fit inside that thing.  It’s tiny!”

The doctor unfolded himself from within the pod.  Standing beside it, he patted the rounded metal lovingly.

“Aw come on, what do you expect?  She’s basically a big egg…”

“A window might have been nice.  Don’t your eyes get sore, all those flashing lights all the time?”

“You get used to it…”  The doctor was standing at the rear of the pod.  He had a small panel open, and was trading out the white lab coat for a long brown jacket.  Molly jabbed a finger at him.

“Hey, yeah!  What about me?  Am I supposed to walk around all day in these…  Wait, hold on.  Where are we?”

Wherever it was, it smelled like horses and moldy feet.  They were standing on hard-pack dirt, and there were old-looking stone buildings on three sides.  She could hear a cacophony of noise from nearby, but none of it sounded like traffic.

“Actually,” the doctor grinned at her, “we’re only about four blocks from your hospital…”

He walked over to the end of the alley and motioned Molly over.  She followed him blithely, trying to picture a map in her head.

“Or, to be precise, four blocks from where your hospital WILL be, in about 450 years.”

Molly took one look, and fainted on the spot.

…

Wait… what?

Um… surprise! (nervous laugh). So, for anyone who was happy with the way part 4 ended (you monsters), you can treat that as the ending. For anyone left feeling… unfulfilled, read on… More explanation in the first comment.

Part 5

Linda sat at her kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a slice of toast. Clad in her fluffy grey bathrobe, her hair had just been washed and was up in a towel. She stared into the distance as she sipped the coffee, and reflected on yesterday’s events. Holy crap, she thought, that was intense. I’ve never been through anything like that, and I hope I never do again. I just hope it worked…

***

Danny woke up on the floor in Jo’s bedroom. Jo was stirring in the bed.

“Mistress?” he asked.

“Wwwffgggll” she replied, rolling over and burying her head under the pillow.

Danny stood and quietly dressed, and as he gently shut the bedroom door to leave Jo sleeping, checking the pocket of his hoodie. The cold metal of a digital camera sat within. He descended the stairs, and stopping by the kitchen, wrote a small note leaving it by the kettle for Jo to find, and slipped out of the house as stealthily as he could manage, pulling shut the front door with a soft click. “I’m no good with that computer stuff, you get the photos over to me” she’d said after they arrived back at her house. As he walked down the road back to his house he again checked the digital camera in the pocket, and smiled to himself.

I really hope this works…

Jo woke an hour or so later. Laying on her back she commanded

“Slave – make me breakfast!”

No response came from the floor. Rolling over to look at the floor – to find Danny gone, she ran her hands back through her hair and squinted at the sunlight streaming in through the crack in her curtains. Putting on her dressing gown she slipped downstairs and made herself a cup of tea.

Making my own tea… Where’s that little fucker gone? She thought to herself

Noticing a piece of paper on the worksurface she picked it up

“Mistress,

On my hands and knees I offer my sincerest apologies but I been called into work today and cannot serve you. I will offer myself prostrate to you later to be punished however you see fit”

Oh ho ho ho… thought Jo – he’s really gonna pay for this one…

***

Reaching his house, Danny fumbled for the keys in his pocket, and let himself in. He strode purposefully into the house, one task on his mind. Opening the cupboard under the stairs, he found the toolbox and unfastening the two catches opened it. Casting a critical eye over the implements within, he found what he was looking for – a hammer. Hefting it in one hand, feeling its weight, he made his decision. Taking the hammer outside into the garden, he removed the small silver digital camera from his pocket, ejected the memory card from the device, placed it on his garden wall, and raising the hammer, brought it smashing down on the memory card. The first blow was precisely aimed, but as he gave it a couple more hard blows his pent-up anger and frustration bubbled to the surface, and with a couple of angry cries increased the force of the blows, until the memory card was reduced into tiny fragments, well beyond use. Tossing the hammer aside carelessly, he panted at the sudden exertion, given extra emphasis by the opportunity to finally vent his negative emotions. Staring triumphantly at the destroyed memory card he thought – Right – that takes care of that.

Staring down at the smashed fragments, he couldn’t help but remember the scene that had been photographed. Linda naked, spread-eagled, covered in mess on her bed, tears rolling down her cheeks. Danny thought further back to when he’d stepped off the coach back from the student conference, and received that text from Linda. That was the first time they’d enacted that bedroom scene. He couldn’t believe that was more than a week ago now. In his mind he replayed the memory of the day he arrived home:

“My love. I’ll give you a couple of hours to rest, but make sure you conserve your energy. Please come to mine for dinner at 7pm sharp, you might need all your energy, I promise I’ll give you a night you’ll never forget ;-)”.

Danny smiled at his phone, and resisted the urge to punch the air in amongst all the others filing off the coach. What had Linda got planned for him?

***

Arriving at Linda’s house that evening, he’d dressed in a smart collared shirt, trousers and polished black shoes, wanting to impress Linda. He could hardly wait to see her; it had only been three short days since he last saw her, but it had felt so much longer. Entering her house he had been blindfolded and led up to her bedroom. That much had been the same the first time. He could see pies and cakes laid out on most of the surfaces in the bedroom, as well as jugs of custard and cream. She’d splashed out on the expensive desserts the first time, no need to when the scene was reprised.

“I thought we might skip over the main course and jump straight to dessert”.

He smiled and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms round her, gently caressing the smooth silk of her kimono round her waist and down to her bum which he squeezed, as their lips locked once more. After another passionate kiss, Linda broke away from him, and continued

“Sweetheart, I thought it might be only fair if you were able to gain a small measure of revenge for what I did to you that night in the changing rooms”, as she smiled. She undid the sash on the kimono and let it fall to the floor.

Danny’s breath caught in his throat for a moment as he took in what she was wearing – a dark jade green push-up bra and matching green thong trimmed with fine black lace. She’d worn green the first time – his favourite colour. She had worn purple the second, his least favourite colour, just so they would be reminded they wouldn’t remember the re-enactment at all fondly. He stepped to her and pushed his tongue into her mouth as she opened it to accept it, him holding the soft naked flesh of her waist and again getting a good squeeze of the pert flesh of her bum as she excitedly ground her body against his; she was feeling pretty frisky already. She held herself back from pushing him to the floor and having her way with him right there and then, and instead indicated the four poster bed – which had two silk sashes tied to the top bedposts. Danny looked at them quizzically, then back at Linda

“Well, as I said, what I did to you, you get to do to me…” she said, seductively. She lay down, and moved her hands towards the sashes. Dan crawled up and gently bound her wrists to the bedposts, so now he had her under his control. He kissed her once more, and as they drew apart from the kiss, he looked into her eyes, the candlelight reflected in her sparkling green eyes as she smiled beautifully at him. She looked him in the eyes and softly said “Now, do what you want to me…” The first time – her words had been soft, intimate, for his ears only. There was none of the role-playing and comical voices this first time around, those had been added for the second – only to help put each other at their ease, to stop them worrying about what they both knew was coming. Danny smiled and stepped over to the cache of messy supplies. He started with a large double chocolate gateau. It was about 12 inches in diameter, with flimsy sponge but thick layers of gooey chocolate mousse. He held it in one hand, and with the other, pulled out a handful and fed it to Linda. She gobbled it up greedily, and he took the rest and splattered it into her cleavage, the rich chocolate engulfing the green material of the bra. Smoothing it over her skin, Linda cooed softly.

“Mmmm… more…” she said breathily

Danny was only too happy to oblige, with a strawberry gateau which he pushed into her face, her snorting and laughing at the feeling as he rubbed it over her face and up into her hair.

“Come on… get me dirtier…” she purred breathlessly. It was clear this experience was turning her on.

Picking up a jug of custard, he unfastened her bra, exposing the clean skin of her chest. Dropping it to the floor, he remembered The second time, I’d tossed it aside, again wanting to keep the mood light. What were the chances of it landing in the custard? That first time had been so much more urgent, fiery, passionate. Her nipples, exposed to the air stood erect, she was just as aroused as he was. Pouring the cool custard over her chest, she gasped and giggled as it tickled her nipples and her chest. She wished her hands were free, so she could spread it around, but Danny was one step ahead, and began to do so with long slow, smooth motions – massaging the custard over her smooth boobs. Going back for a bottle of chocolate syrup, he began to squirt it over her custard-coated chest and belly. This first time the pattern had been haphazard, crisscrossing all over her flesh, not like the second time when he’d drawn a smiley face, again an attempt to break the tension of knowing what was to come…

Linda was now squirming against her bonds, gasping and moaning as Danny applied more sweet mess to her body, lost in the sensations. He picked up a creamy trifle, and running his hand round the outside of the plastic container, scooped it out and dumped it onto Linda’s face, her screwing her eyes shut just in time. He then pushed his face through it and dug with his tongue to Linda’s mouth, meanwhile with his spare hand clearing her nose so she could breathe. Linda leapt upon the kiss, as far as was possible considering her restricted movement, but she urgently pushed her tongue into his mouth, now aroused beyond belief. The two lovers spread the trifle around each others’ faces as they nuzzled and kissed.

“Please… Danny”, gasped Linda “don’t tease me anymore…”

Danny smiled to himself. Linda was laid in only her green thong panties on the bed, covered from belly upwards in all manner of sweet goodies.

“Well my love” replied Danny “you promised me revenge, and at the moment you’re clean from the waist down… not to mention you’ve still got clothes on. No, I’m afraid I’m going to have to finish the job of messing you up”.

Linda squirmed again in frustration. He was too good at this…

Gently easing her thong off her hips, Linda assisting by lifting her bum in the air; Danny slid it down her thighs, past her knees and off her feet. Greeted by the clean skin of Linda’s lower regions, he drunk in her nakedness for a moment, albeit half-covered in gunge. Moving to the diminishing cache of ammunition – he picked up a squirt bottle of golden syrup, and moving down to Linda’s feet, he dribbled the sticky syrup all over her toes. Linda giggled at the sensation, before closing her eyes, and letting out little moans

“You know” she whispered “That really does feel… amazing”.

Danny finished one bottle of syrup over Linda’s left foot, then repeated with another bottle on the other leg. The waves of sticky syrup immersed her sensitive toes, coating her feet like a second skin, long strands dribbling down onto the bed. Lifting her legs so she held them in a V up in the air, he then picked up a bottle in each hand, and began to repeat the motion onto the creamy flesh of Linda’s toned legs, down her calves and onto the inviting flesh of her inner thighs. He teased by slowly drizzling the syrup over her thighs, moving closer and closer to her vagina, before squeezing harder and dribbling a generous blob of syrup all over Linda’s most sensitive area. Linda was quivering uncontrollably, the stimulation was almost too much, so Danny decided to put the poor girl out of her misery. Throwing her syrupy legs over his shoulders he probed his tongue between her lips and showed her pleasure the likes of which she’d never before known.

Bringing Linda to the brink he stopped, Linda squirmed in frustration. Danny stood to take off his boxers, dropping them to the floor. Now fully naked in front of her; Linda said “Come here and get inside me” Danny moved on top of her and mounted his lover. The two made love passionately, finally consummating their relationship; his face inches from hers as she leant up to kiss him, her hands still bonded above her head to the bedposts. That first time, there were to be no interruptions, just the two of them, forging their love in the heat of passion, stoked by the wonderland of messy sensations they’d experienced. The two ultimately reached their climax as one, the heat and intensity of the pleasure almost seeming to fuse their two bodies together. As they slowly descended from their orgasmic cloud, nuzzling each other tenderly, Danny undid the bonds on her wrists, allowing her to wrap her arms round him, and the two dozed off in a tender, gooey embrace. That perfect ending the first time, in contrast to the nightmare scenario they knew would come for the second…

A few days later, while talking over dinner – Danny had broached the subject of whether Jo had been truly put off further interference in Danny and Linda’s life. Linda had been reticent to be involved in anything involving Jo, preferring to leave it to Danny to sort, but she agreed, admitting she’d had the same reservations Danny was expressing. If Danny needed her help, she’d do whatever was needed to protect them both. They felt they’d spent too long underestimating Jo’s deviousness and cruelty, and so they’d resolved to put in motion an audacious plan. They realised Jo would only leave Linda alone if she felt she had truly crushed her, defeated and humiliated her utterly. Only then would she let her guard down. In order for this to happen Danny would have to play to her ego, make her believe she had overcome his resistance and actually managed to seduce him and tear him away from Linda. Not only get him away from Linda, but be besotted with Jo to the extent that he would do anything for her, even be her sex slave. They both suspected Jo would not be able to resist the allure of the power that’d give her. So Danny would play along, even agreeing (to please his new mistress) that he would help Jo get her revenge on Linda for taking the captaincy of the five-a-side team. A week after the first time they’d enjoyed messy sex together, they planned to re-enact their gooey tryst, but ensure that Jo would want to interrupt them at a critical moment, a wildly different ending than the first time. Danny would feed Jo the line that Linda had something special planned for him, and he suspected it would involve some messy play. Jo would wait down the road while Linda and Danny acted out their scene, excited to deal the final blow to Linda and crush her spirit. Jo would think she had the opportunity to interrupt the two lovers and reveal the revelation she’d stolen Danny from Linda. Danny would stand at the window as a signal to Jo, who would take that moment to make her entrance. After this, Jo would believe Linda to be beyond recovery. This was the point Danny and Linda would bide their time for their moment to strike now Jo’s guard was down, believing Linda to be beaten. And it did indeed seem the gambit had worked, her guard was down, and it was nearly time to strike back… If you want peace, prepare for war…  thought Danny.

***

An hour after Danny had smashed the memory card, the day after they’d put their plan into action and had their second messy encounter knowingly interrupted by Jo; a knock came softly at Linda’s door. She went to the door and opened it, and in walked Danny. She quickly shut the door and pulled him to her, kissing him urgently; squeezing him so tight he felt like his chest might be crushed.

Danny reiterated the hug. Holding Linda, they remaining that way, just holding each other, for a good five minutes, neither saying a word. Then, Danny spoke

“Are you OK?”

Linda looked at him, and wordlessly nodded.

“That… was intense” she finally said

Tears formed in the corner of Danny’s eyes “I’m so sorry to have put you through that” he said, starting to cry “It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do”

Linda placed her hands on his cheeks gently “It’s OK, I knew what I had to do, if I didn’t give it my all she’d have seen through it”

Danny nodded – tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Come on – let’s have some tea” said Linda taking his hand and walking him into the lounge.

“So you think this has worked?” she asked from the kitchen as Danny sat on the sofa and wiped his eyes.

“I think so” replied Danny “I’ve smashed the memory card, no-one will see those pictures… Like I said to you before, she had to believe you were completely crushed, only then would she let her guard down. After that, we strike when she’s most vulnerable. She was crowing in victory all night last night”

Linda was then reminded that Danny had spent the night with Jo. The thought of it made her feel sick, but she had to remind herself it seemed to be the only way to get Jo to let her guard down and trust Danny. They’d planned to have Danny “go back” on his resistance to Jo’s advances and throw himself at her feet, and play to her ego as an irresistible woman whom men were helpless to resist. If he did it in a submissive position, happy to indulge her every whim then that would only appeal to her all the more.

“She didn’t make you… do anything too bad, did she?” asked Linda, carefully

“No…” started Danny, looking troubled “Lick her feet, be a chair for her, she paddled me a few times, my bum is a little sore but I’ll live”

Linda had to ask “…and you two, didn’t…”

“No” said Danny, looking Linda in the eye to tell her he was serious “we didn’t have sex. She’s so drunk with power she thought I’d be grateful to…” he paused, grimacing at the memory “…wank into a pair of her worn panties in another room so she didn’t have to watch me while she got herself off! She sent me out of the room, I just made the noises but I promise you, nothing happened. Then I slept at the foot of her bed, like a good little slave” he tilted his head one way then the other on “like a good little slave” in mockery. “But I didn’t do anything; I always wanted to be true to you”

“Oh Danny…” Linda muttered, tears now forming in her eyes and hugging him tight. The things they’d had to put themselves through, just to get Jo’s guard down! But it did indeed seem that she believed she’d won.

The two looked at each other, and Danny spoke first “Which means… we’ve got her where we want her”

Linda smiled back “I was reluctant at first, but she really, *really* does deserve everything she’s got coming to her…”

Danny smiled broader and replied “I know, and it’s going to be *awesome* giving it to her”

Meanwhile, at her house – Jo picked up her phone and smirked to herself. She knew she could inflict more torture on this… worm who had become infatuated with her. Texting Danny, she wrote

“You have failed me, slave. You are worthless. I was weak for taking you on, and your services are no longer required”

Jo smiled to herself as she hit Send. That would surely drive him to despair! She could hardly wait to hear his begging and grovelling to be let back into her good graces.

Danny phone beeped. He read the message from Jo, and showed it to Linda. Smiling to themselves, they imagined Jo feeling pretty pleased with herself. She’d think he’d be driven insensible by the thought of displeasing his mistress. Well thought Danny – best not to disappoint her. He left it a couple of hours before he sent back a text

“Mistress! I can only grovel at your feet, I am unworthy to be your slave but I can only appeal to your mercy and hope you may see your way to letting me back to serve you again”

Jo’s phone let out a ding to signal the arrival of another message. She read it, and smiled to herself – Oh, I’ve got him alright, he’ll do anything… and why not? Any man should throw themselves in front of a train for a chance to please me. I’m going to make this slow, drawn-out, and agonising. I’ll make him beg for me. I’ll break his heart, then tell him I forgive him and want him back. He’ll come running. Then I’ll drop him again… In a few weeks I’ll have broken his spirit and his mind and he’ll have no clue what he wants, other than to please me…

Jo’s ego, boosted by her utter humiliation of Linda, and conquering of Danny was at an all-time high. It was so inflated it blinded her to any notion of her fallibility or indeed intelligence on the part of Danny. She played Danny just like she thought she would, she’d push him away, then let him in a bit, then push him away, emotionally torturing this man who was devoted to her. She loved reading his grovelling responses whenever he had been spurned, knowing they would be all the more anguished when she sent a message offering him another chance, only to afterwards tell him he’d blown it. She’d toy with him like a cat playing with an injured mouse, unable to fully limp away.

This back-and-forth of mistress and slave would continue for a few days. Danny was ready to go back to Jo and spend more time at her mercy if he had to, but thankfully she seemed happy merely tormenting him via phone and text. While this was going on – Linda and Danny had been plotting – the coup de grace.

The basic idea had been Danny’s, but Linda proved to have as devious a mind as any (perhaps with the exception of Jo), when they fleshed out their plan. They’d called in a couple of favours, and they had something planned for Jo so grand, so spectacular that they knew it might be enough to send *her* packing for good. A final setpiece…

***

A week had passed since Jo’s assumed triumph over Linda, it was a Thursday. Danny sat in front of his computer, with Linda leaning down on his shoulder looking at the screen, her long brown hair tickling his face and neck. Danny had open an email he was composing:

Hey bitch,

I’ve gotten the word about a bangin’ rave out at an old barn just off the A330. We should go! Just like old times, we’ll pop a couple, down a couple, and see what happens… Meet me at the layby at 11pm on Saturday night and I’ll show you the way…

E x

In the “from” field, it showed an email address – E11ie@mail.com. It looked just like the e-mail address of Jo’s close friend Ellie. What wasn’t immediately obvious unless you knew to look for it was that the lower case “L”s in it were actually number ones. Danny had set up a fake email account, and planned to try and fool Jo into thinking the mail really was from Ellie.

“I don’t know if this’ll work, but if she’s as bad with technology as she said she was, it should…” said Danny to Linda. They both hesitated, reading the mail one more time. If they clicked Send, this would set the plan in motion. If they didn’t follow through, all their planning and preparation would have been for naught. “Do you really want to do this?” he asked, looking up at her.

She thought for a second, scanning the screen. Then she reached down her right hand to his which was sat idle on the mouse. She guided his hand in moving the mouse to the Send button, and pressing down on his finger with hers – clicked it. “Yes” she said positively. “We have to do what we have to do to protect each other”. Danny leant up and pulled her to him for a kiss.

***

The rest of the day dragged by for Danny and Linda. They’d check the email account for E11ie@mail.com every hour, only to find nothing. Like a child waking up in the middle of the night on Christmas morning, and unable to get back to sleep, they’d try and distract themselves and each other, but every hour would stretch out tortuously. Every half an hour one would ask the other “shall we check again now?” but their check was fruitless. Resolving that she wouldn’t reply until Friday, they took themselves to bed, and slept fitfully, their minds consumed with whether their plan would be executed to fruition.

***

Friday came, and after breakfast, the two had decided to stay in, they needed to be ready in case Jo should take their bait, there would be things to finalise… They also needed to lay low; it would do the credence of their lie to Jo no good if they were seen out and about, especially not together. Settling down in Linda’s lounge they took to watching a marathon of their favourite crime show. Episode after episode came and went, and provided no distraction from them checking the email address to see if Jo had sent a reply. Halfway through their eighth episode, at about 7pm a ding came from Danny’s phone and a notification ‘One new message for E11ie@mail.com’. Danny drew in a quick breath, and his heart leapt into his mouth, as he opened the notification. Linda sat bolt upright, when she saw Danny’s face, asking “Is this it? Ohmygod…”.

Danny face fell and he let out a disappointed groan “Spam – ‘Satisfy her longer and harder with soft Cialis’…”

Picking up a cushion and beating it against the sofa in frustration, Linda lay back, and they went back to their marathon.

Linda mused frustrated to herself “She’s got to read it – and she can’t refuse to go to a rave, right up her alley. Maybe we got it wrong? Maybe she’s seen through it?”

“Patience…” replied Danny, feeling pretty lacking in it himself “…we have to just wait – she’ll take the bait and then we can finally get things moving”

“Are we going too far?” asked Linda

Danny looked troubled for a second, but then his face hardened, as did his resolve “Think about what she did to me, and what she was *willing* to do to you when she thought it was real, what happened in the bedroom that time… She *needs* to be taught a lesson, not just for us, not just for anyone else she’s hurt, but for anyone who she might hurt if we don’t show her that people cannot, should not and *will* not be treated like she treats them!”

Linda looked admiringly at Danny “God Danny, when you speak like that… I love you so much” she dove onto him and kissed him passionately. Danny returned the kiss happily, and the two retired upstairs to spend the rest of the evening in bed together, having found the appetite to pass the time in a more physical pursuit.

***

Waking up early on that Saturday morning in a warm naked embrace, the two lovers greeted the new day with a kiss. Danny slipped on Linda’s bathrobe, and went downstairs to put the kettle on. Linda was just finding some pyjamas to throw on to join him when Danny re-entered the bedroom, the colour drained from his face, holding his phone.

“She’s replied” – in the Inbox for E11ie@mail.com was one mail, from Jo. It read:

Hey slut,

Sounds like fun, count me in. You bring the X.

J

“She’s going to be there!” said Danny, his heart racing in his chest.

“So…” breathed Linda “…we’re going to do this…” the gravity of the situation weighing on her. “We need to make a few calls, there’s not much time until this evening…”

Their plan appeared to be taking shape. They had a busy day ahead to get all the pieces in place. Their preparations went off without a hitch, and soon, Saturday evening had arrived. The hour was almost here – they just needed to wait for their leading lady to make her entrance…

***

That evening Jo slipped out of the shower to get dressed for her night out. Dropping her towel and admiring herself naked in the mirror, as she moisturised her perfect skin, she thought God, I am gorgeous. You’d think the novelty would wear off but no wonder I drive the guys wild. That Danny would drag his bollocks over hot coals just to get a sniff of me… Tonight I’m gonna find the hottest guy at that rave, single or taken – nah, you know what? I’ll find the hottest taken guy, just so I can see the look on his pathetic girl’s face when I steal him away from her, take him home, and fuck him. And then I’ll send the pictures to Danny, just to twist the knife…

Jo dressed in her favourite clubbing gear, she’d worn it many a time but it always got attention, a black corset-style top that laced up the front leaving an almost scandalous amount of cleavage on show – a short black skirt with white embroidery; and knee-high brown boots – …my fuck-me boots she thought with a wicked smile. A spritz of perfume gave her a spiced musk that she knew would work like pheromones, driving men to animal lust as soon as they’d get a whiff, coupled with the sight of this Amazonian girl, over six feet tall who seemed to drop jaws on anything with testicles.

Applying make-up, she put on the merest hint of powder, practically none needed for her flawless skin, blue eye shadow, and black mascara to emphasise her sparkling blue eyes. A hint of blush on her cheeks, and ruby red lipstick completed the enhancement.

A car horn beep came from outside as the taxi she’d booked rolled up outside her door. Dropping everything she’d need for the night into a handbag, she locked the door and headed out to have a good time.

The taxi driver took a long lingering look at Jo as she got in. Noticing him clearly perving at her in the central mirror Jo snapped “Keep your eyes to yourself, mate, not a chance… Head onto the A330, I’ll direct you from there”. Ugh, she felt so dirty with that greasy old taxi driver staring at her the whole way. As the layby of which Ellie had spoken came into view, Jo directed the driver to stop, and let her out. Paying him, not leaving a tip – he took more than enough staring at my tits and trying to get a view up my skirt, didn’t he? The driver asked if she’d be OK. Rolling her eyes, she replied testily “I’ll be fine”.

The taxi pulled away and Jo checked her phone. No reception here. With a sigh, she sat down at the nearest picnic table under the orange fluorescent lights and waited for Ellie. After 20 minutes she got bored, and started to wonder whether to head back, maybe this whole idea was a bust… Looking out away from the road she could see in the distance an orange glow further along the dirt path leading from the car park into the fields. With a sigh she started along the path, hearing the faint boom of bass, distant dance music. Well, she thought, if that useless cow isn’t going to show then I may as well still go and have a good time. Heading towards the orange glow she could see as she neared it was given off by burning torches lining the path heading further away from the road, they’d clearly been left to lead the way for those who knew where to look, but wouldn’t attract any undue attention from anyone otherwise stopped on the car park. Jo continued to walk for a further 5 minutes, following the torches along the path. The sound of the cars on the main road was only a low hum behind her now. The moon was bright tonight and in the moonlight she looked around; she could see a fair way ahead of her and in most directions but there were no other people in sight. This rave really was out of the way, she thought to herself – This better be worth it. But, she reminded herself that Ellie knew all the best spots – she and Ellie had had some wild nights in the past, drinking, dancing, and copping off with unsuspecting guys until the sun came up. She remembered one encounter where she and Ellie had managed to get one guy naked and blindfolded under the pretence of having a threesome out in a field before they’d tied him to a tree, taken his clothes and ditched the bastard. If this night was anywhere near as good, it’d be worth it.

Minutes of walking later, the torches converged on a farm building makde of corrugated iron sheets. The pumping dance music emanated from within, rattling the metal walls.

Jo walked up and opened the door. Flashing lights blinded her temporarily as a shock to her eyeballs after they’d adjusted to the dim twilight outside. Walking into the middle of the building, towards the DJ booth, a laptop placed on top, she looked around but couldn’t seem to see anyone. Suddenly, the music stopped abruptly. The lights also shut off with a loud echoing clunk. The barn, formerly filled with light and sound, was replaced by a black void. Jo stopped in her tracks. “Hello?!” she shouted, her voice echoing off the corrugated iron walls. The void of the barn seemed to slowly swallow the words as the echo faded. Then, with another loud clunk of a switch, a white spotlight from above illuminated Jo. Jo put her hands up to shield her eyes and shouted “What the fuck is going on?!” The words again echoed into silence.

There was silence, and only the bright white light for 15 seconds; which felt like an age to Jo, but then – just as her sight was beginning to get accustomed to the atmosphere; from the shadows, slow footsteps echoed from the concrete floor off the walls.

Clack.

Clack.

Clack.

Jo wheeled round to see a figure emerge from the darkness. A dark robe swished as the figure slowly stepped towards Jo.

Clack.

Clack.

Clack.

Jo suddenly felt a wave of uneasiness knock her off balance. The steps of the figure’s black boots on the concrete floor were slow but unrelenting.

Clack.

Clack.

Clack.

She could only stare wide eyed, rooted to the spot, at the figure approaching, a figure wearing an almost floor-length robe covering their entire body, with the hood pulled over their head, and a Venetian carnival mask obscuring their face. The white porcelain of the mask hid the figure’s face, only their eyes revealed, and those stared out at Jo – cold, unblinking. Jo took a couple of steps backwards away from the figure, and insects crawled up her spine as she backed into something. She whirled round, trying to not scream but her heart rate suddenly spiking as she saw behind her another figure dressed much like the one she’d attempted to retreat from. She whirled to her left, intending to run at a right angle from the two figures closing in on her but another of the masked robed figures was waiting. She backed up a few steps, and found herself in the middle of a circle of figures, all dressed as the first. Turning round her, looking for a means of escape, she whirled round but found none, as the five – for there were five of them – the five figures surrounded her.

Hi All,

The First 32 results are in from round 1 of the Gunge Grand Prix. See the table below. Scores are in percentages.

Matches 33-64 will go live at 8pm UK time on Thursday 14th April. As before look under the Gunge Grand Prix 2016 tab on the front page in order to vote.

Thanks, and happy voting!

The show opens in a different studio to usual. It has the same features – most notably a cylindrical vat towering in the centre of the stage – but the layout and colour scheme are slightly different. A leggy dark-brunette of olive complexion struts out, clad in a short green dress. She beams as she laps up the enthusiastic applause.

Brunette: ¡Gracias, muchas gracias! Buenas noches y bienvenidos a este nuevo espectáculo – ¡Merecido!

The audience cheers.

Brunette: En este programa, tenéis la oportunidad de vengarse de aquellas profesiones que realmente os molestan. Cada semana, vamos conecer tres trabajadores muy impopulares, y vostros debéis decider, por votación pública, quien más merece un castigo humillante… ¡en nuestra “Mucky Dip!”

The scene switches to a close shot of Sian.

Sian: Do not adjust your sets! We just wanted to give you a glimpse of our Spanish sister show, which started airing this week. [Winks at the camera] Spoiler: the matador got it!

The camera slowly zooms out to reveal Sian standing on the familiar stage with the Mucky Dip behind her.

Sian: But back here in the UK, it’s business as usual. We have three abhorrent professionals, millions of vengeful voters, and one very mucky punishment. I’m Sian Welby [spreads arms wide and throws back head] and this is COMEUPPANCE!!

The audience goes mental.

Sian: What a fab crowd we’ve got tonight! Let’s get straight down to it and meet the contestants!

The fashion vlogger
Sian: Back for another round of judgement is Princess Priscilla. She’s eighteen, from Derry, and as you’ll surely recall, she’s a fashion and makeup blogger.

The guards wheel on a cage containing Priscilla, who plays up to the camera while the audience boos and hisses.

Sian: This is normally the part of the show where I ask the returning runner-up what they’ve been up to during the week, but in your case, Priscilla, there’s no need. You’ve spent the week making a deluxe-length vlog post about your experience on last week’s Comeuppance, and it’s already garnered over three million views. Must be raking in a nice bit of dough for you, huh?

Priscilla: Indeed it is, and my other videos have also had a big boost in views since my appearance. Still, the money never lasts long. Good clothes and makeup are expensive, you know.

Sian: About this video of yours – it’s 45 minutes long and mostly dull drivel, but there’s one part that caught my attention, [frowns] and not in a good way. Let’s play the clip.

The scene shows Priscilla at her dressing table, wearing a pale pink top and staring self-importantly into the camera.

Priscilla: …I had rated Sian Welby very highly for fashion-sense – she always looks chic on the Health Lottery – but on the occasion of meeting her in person I was rather disappointed. Sian was evidently trying to pull off a bright and breezy spring look, but the yellow tone of her dress clashed dreadfully with her hair, her lipstick was insipid, and as for those shoes… [sighs] well they have to go on Priscilla’s little list of celebrity faux pas, I’m afraid…

The clip fades out. There is a long “OooooOOOOooo!!” from the audience and a number of meows. Sian stands with her arms folded, glaring at Priscilla.

Sian: So what’s the meaning of this?

Priscilla: [innocently] Just my honest and well-considered review. You’re lucky to get free advice from someone with such refined taste. [Looks Sian up and down] I have to say, you and denim…

Sian: [growling] Not! Another! Word! I’ll tell you what a faux pas is! It’s wearing the most garish colours and foulest fragrances of the season from head to toe! Because that’s how you could be leaving us tonight, and I will gladly push the button if the public so will it, Princess!

Sian stomps off. Fear flickers on Priscilla’s face as she recalls the trauma of last week’s vote, but she maintains a sultry pose.

Sian: [Takes a deep breath] Well folks, I trust you’re itching to see this little madam make her big splash on the Comeuppance catwalk, but I’m duty-bound to introduce the other contestants and commend them for your consideration, so let’s press on.

The student union sabbatical officer
Sian: Our second malefactor is twenty-one-year-old Monique. She’s originally from Leeds, but currently she’s president of Larchester University Students’ Association – or LUSA for short.

The guards bring out a caged Monique to the customary Comeuppance unwelcome.

Sian: Monique is a sabbatical officer, meaning she’s suspended her studies for a year and is paid to work full time for LUSA, but I’m not convinced by what she has to show for it. Monique, there was a time when student unions concerned themselves with bread-and-butter issues such as accommodation, grievances with faculty, and most importantly, cheap beer! These days they’re bogged down with self-indugent gesture politics, tedious debates over semantics, and general neo-Stalinist lunacy. Lost the plot rather, haven’t you?

Monique: No, not at all Sian. I think it’s important that students engage and show solidarity with the wider world, and LUSA’s policies do that very effectively.

Sian: Well let’s have a look at those policies, shall we? You’ve banned virtually every televised sporting event from the union bar, because you deem one or other of the sponsers to be “unethical”. You’ve passed toothless motions condemning everything from emerald mining in Zanzibar to Donald Trump’s comb-over. And you have two women’s officers, but your constitution expressly forbids the instatement of a men’s officer, leaving half of the student body unrepresented!

A chorus of snorts and puffs emanates from the audience throughout Sian’s list.

Monique: Actually, cis-males make up 50.3% of Larchester’s student body, which goes to show what a priviledged and over-represented group they are!

Sian: [shaking her head] Point three percent, eh? That’s exactly the kind of pedantry I’m getting at! But I shouldn’t be too harsh on LUSA, because they do have some good policies. For example, the very reason you’re standing here in this cage is because a motion was passed mandating you to sign up for the show, right?

Monique: [ruefully] Yes, and it had the biggest turnout and majority of any vote in LUSA’s history!

Sian: I’m not at all surprised! Your fellow students all want to see you brought down from political cloud-cuckoo-land into something wet, cold and slimy, and they might well get their wish!

Monique grins with her tongue on her lip and shakes her head.

Sian: [turns to face the camera] No doubt many of you would like to see that too, but before you send Monique off for her re-education, please weigh up tonight’s third and final villain.

The nutritionist
Sian: Her name is Cara. She’s thirty-three and from Shrewsbury, where she has run a private diet and nutrition consultancy for the past nine years.

Cara is wheeled from the wings to join the other two cages on stage, greeted by the usual disapprobation.

Sian: Now Cara, I’ve always thought that our mothers and grandmothers had settled the question of healthy eating – a sensible balance of meat, carbs and veg, and the occasional sweet treat. Yet I can’t step into a bookshop without being confronted by some radical diet manifesto purporting to be the biggest gastronomic revolution since sliced bread!

Cara: I certainly wouldn’t recommend eating bread Sian, sliced or otherwise. Wheat is very bad for you! And I’m afraid that mother doesn’t always know best. Modern science is overturning conventional wisdom, and we nutritionists are here to rectify those age-old errors and improve people’s wellbeing through smarter nutrition.

Sian: [sharply] Actually, many medical experts say you push nonsensical fad diets that encourage extreme eating habits and have grave consequences for health!

The audience boos.

Cara: [icily] I don’t “push fad diets”, Sian. I develop carefully structured nutrition plans.

Sian: Really? Earlier I went on your website, and here are some of the “plans” you offer: the grapefruit diet, the cabbage soup diet, the detox diet, the retox diet, the breakfast diet, the Buckfast diet, the shrew and berry diet (guess that’s a special one for your locality), the Three Mile Island diet, the National Diet of Japan, and of course the current big alimentary craze – the Paleolithic diet!

Cara: Oh, no no no! The latest research shows the Paleolithic diet is extremely bad for you; the new Triassic diet is where it’s at!

Sian: And that’s another thing: the advice gets rewritten more often than an Orwellian newspaper! Last year’s miracle diet becomes this year’s poison, otherwise you lot wouldn’t make money flogging new books! Well guess what Cara, we have a diet that’ll work wonders for you! It’s somewhere between solid and liquid intake, and even though you may gain some weight during the process, the smell is guaranteed to suppress your appetite! It’s called the muck diet, and you could be on it very soon!

Cara raises her eyebrows and flashes a little coy smile.

Sian: [facing the camera and strolling forwards] So those are our three wrongdoers, safely under lock and key while they await judgement. Before the evening is out, one of them will be submerged in our Mucky Dip, hauled back out and left to dangle as a warning to others!

As the audience whoops, an overhead camera peers down over the colossal vat, but the dry ice fog obscures what lies within.

Sian: [looking up at the camera] You might not be able to see in there yet, but let me tell you, the pong is wafting down already and it’s none too sweet!

The scene reverts to the stage-level camera.

Sian: The only question is who will sit in that dreaded chair, a decision we leave in your capable hands. Appearing on your screen are the phone numbers for voting for your preferred comeuppancee. If you’re eager to give the vain and conceited Princess Priscilla [spits out the words] a mucky makeover, then you need to get dialling 0900 68259 01. If you want to teach militant Monique a lesson she won’t find in her university syllabus, then you should key in 0900 68259 02. Or if you’d love to see Cara the fad foodie eat her words and wash them down with bitter slop, then 0900 68259 03 is the number for you! Calls cost £1.50 plus whatever your service provider charges; it’s a bargain price for some seriously satisfying payback. See you all later!

The poll will close at 10 pm on Wednesday the 20^th. You can vote multiple times throughout the course of the week, but only once every 12 hours.

WARNING: There is a brief mention of animal manure in this part. It’s not used in explicit detail, so I think is unlikely to upset anyone, but if even a small mention is likely to upset you, this is your warning.

Hello and welcome to scenes 32 to 36 of Pancake Day 2. You might look at the number of scenes and realise this must be an important part, and you’d be right, as it’s where we finally meet the main protagonist, and set up the final showdown between her and Princess Porcelain.

I also find myself in an unusual position, in that a lot of stuff I was going to bring up I’ve already covered in the comments to the last scene, after someone brought up the similarities between Porcelain and the Batman villainess Harlequin. Now this wasn’t something I deliberately set out to do. I wasn’t that aware of the character, having never seen the cartoon or comics before, and only having once watched a play through of one of the computer games. They don’t dress dissimilarly, but the red and black colour scheme isn’t that unusual with people going for a rock or gothic look.
Some also pointed out some similarities in the personalities, at least in the Batman cartoon, and in Porcelain’s early character before I developed it a little more, where both have psychotic child like tendencies, which is what convinced me to purchase a second hand copy of the DVD, to find out a little more.
One thing I did pick up on was her anti-villain like tendencies, where you view her as a villain, and I didn’t root for her over Batman, but there were still times I found myself rooting for her, and I could see myself rooting for her in a clash with another villain. That’s definitely a position I’d like for Porcelain, and I think I’ve gone along the right lines by introducing some sympathetic aspects to her character, even if you wouldn’t always condone her actions.
This I think will be important here as you meet the main villainess, and we see Porcelain enacting out some of her more sadistic ideas, but at the same time you can sympathise with her, and could easily see her as the lesser of two evils.

Scene 32:

The camera cuts to a shot looking down a long corridor of an old building. The occasional picture hangs on the wall, and a large glass cabinet can be seen about halfway down. Painted wooden doors can be seen at regular intervals. The main focus though is the lady walking sternly down it, with a self determined, angry look on her face. She wears a grey business like top and skirt, a pair of authoritative black boots, and her hair in a bun. She looks to be in her mid forties, and is a large individual, not in an unhealthy way, but in the way of someone with an intimidating presence about them, thanks to her bulk and above average height. She looks up as we hear someone rapidly approaching.

Jack: Mrs Turnbull. Mrs Turnbull.
Mrs Turnbull: Stop running boy! This isn’t a playground.
Jack: Helen. She’s here. We’ve got to make sure everyone’s safe.
Mrs Turnbull: What are you talking about?
Jack: You remember Helen Mathews, she left here and went after all those girls in Southbrook. Well now she’s come back and is going after everyone here. She’s already got Victoria and Christine.
Mrs Turnbull: Don’t be so silly boy!
Jack: It’s true. They’re down in the abandoned part of the cellar. We’ve got to get help.
Mrs Turnbull: So that’s where everyone’s been hiding. Well if they think they can just hide from me down there they’ve got another thing coming.
Jack: But Helen’s down there.
Mrs Turnbull: That’s enough silliness. I’m sure this is all part of some immature joke, and quite frankly I’ve had enough. First we’re all brought back from the school holidays early with no explanation, not even Gretel’s about to tell me what’s going on. Then someone steals everyone’s mobile phones, then people think they can now just wander off without telling me. Well I’ve had enough, I’m going to put a stop to this immediately.
Jack: But …
Mrs Turnbull: No buts boy. Now get up to your room, and stay there until I say you can come out, or I’ll ………
Jack: Or you’ll what? I notice you’ve not got your usual sidekicks to help you push people about. I’d love to see how tough you really are without them. Go on. Take the first shot. Then I can say anything I do was in self defence.
Mrs Turnbull: GET OUT OF MY SIGHT NOW YOU INCOLENT CHILD!

With a smug confident look on his face Jack slowly strides away. The camera focuses on Mrs Turnbull as she exhales deeply. Suddenly we hear the sound of glass breaking.

Mrs Turnbull: Who was that? Whoever it was come out now.

Nothing happens. Angrily Mrs Turnbull steps up to the door where the sound came from and throws the door open. The camera cuts to a shot of the classroom, looking in from the door. Suddenly a chair stacked on top of one of the tables falls off it.

Mrs Turnbull: Ha! I’ve got you. Time to reinstill a bit of discipline around here.

The camera cuts to a shot of Mrs Turnbull from the waste up as she marches into the classroom. She takes several strides in, then all of a sudden she’s hit in the face with a white chlorafoam pie. The camera slips out of focus as Mrs Turnbull gasps, and then falls to the ground, then the camera fades to black.

Scene 33:

The camera cuts to what appears to be someone’s office or study. It is richly decorated with an oak desk, and several ornate chairs on either side. As the camera scans around the walls we see several heavy looking bookcases with leather bound books, several large oil paintings, and a collection of smaller frames housing various black and white group photos. As the camera continues round we see another bookcase, this one containing a number of academic texts and a number of well used paperback novels. Next to that is a cushioned bench, under a number of shelves where a collection of Victorian looking dolls is being displayed. The camera settles on an unusual part of the wall, where a large painting has swung out like a door, revealing a stairwell behind it. Running down the stairwell, through the door and out of site in to the office is a bright steel chain. Before we can investigate any more we’re interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps on the stairs. A familiar face climbs up in to view.

Porcelain: Hello Mrs Turnbull. It’s playtime.

The camera cuts to a shot showing the middle of the office. We see the chain ends in the centre, where it’s securely bolted to the ground. Standing there is Mrs Turnbull, who now has a heavy looking steel shackle padlocked to her ankle. The other half of the shackle is a heavy steel loop that passes around the chain, meaning she can walk along the chain but not away from it. At the sight of Porcelain she angrily launches forward. Porcelain simply steps to the side out of her reach.

Mrs Turnbull: What do you think your doing back here Mrs Mathews?

The camera cuts to Porcelain, who is now sitting on the bench. She’s taken one of the dolls off the shelf and is carefully examining it.

Porcelain: Now, now, Mrs Turnbull. You were always so strict about addressing people by the proper term. I’m sure you can extend the same courtesy to others.

Mrs Turnbull: You’ve got some nerve coming back here. All the trouble you used to cause, all that money you stole, not to mention the damage you caused to this schools reputation. You have no right to be proud of yourself HELEN.

The camera cuts to a smiling Porcelain, who is deliberately ignoring Mrs Turnbull. She’s taken a hairbrush off the shelf and is brushing the dolls hair.

Porcelain: It’s your own time you’re wasting.
Mrs Turnbull: Fine. Princess Porcelain. Is that going to put an end to this silly business?
Porcelain: Well it’s a start. By the way given the amount of horse shit already found here I don’t think what I’ve done is going to hurt this places reputation much.
Mrs Turnbull: How would you know? You spent more time in my office than you ever did doing anything constructive.
Porcelain: Ah, yes. So many memories. So many verbal berating’s, punishments, and even a few beatings. Is that really how you treat someone entrusted in your care?
Mrs Turnbull: Well someone had …….
Porcelain: Don’t bother. I’m tired of hearing excuses. You know there’s a lot of hate in this world. Homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia to name but a few. People justify their actions with religion, nationalism or just by blaming the people they’re hating. Ultimately though they just feel secure in their own narrow, closed view of the world, and don’t want anyone to challenge it. That’s why instead of embracing new views, or even just ignoring them they respond with distrust and hatred towards them. That’s why you and all those other girls here hated me. I was a challenge to your own narrow views, something you felt you had to suppress and extinguish.
Mrs Turnbull: You have a very high view of yourself Princess Porcelain.
Porcelain: Not really. Ultimately we’re all just cogs in a big machine. In my case a cog you thought you could all mould in to shape and oppress. Well I’m sure sometimes that works, but sometimes the oppressed fight back. That’s when you get fighting. That’s when you get wars. That’s when good people become monsters. Well today I’ve given you another very narrow path to walk down, and your going to face the consequences of not straying from it.
Mrs Turnbull: No!
Porcelain: Pardon?
Mrs Turnbull: No! I won’t dignify your silly little games like that. I’d rather just stand here and take the consequences. At least then I’ll still have my dignity.
Porcelain: (sigh) I thought you’d need some extra motivation.

The camera cuts to an overview of the study. The lights dim and an image is suddenly projected from an unseen source onto one of the bookcases. The camera cuts to the image and it’s a film showing images from Porcelains previous games. We see Jasmine covered in chocolate moose, Clara and Amy covered in treacle, Athena dripping with custard and Christine and Victoria in a pool of cottage cheese.

Porcelain: You see Mrs Turnbull I have a great friend working with me called Garry. He comes off as a little stand offish at first, but he’s a really nice guy if you make the effort to get to know him. He’s also a real whiz when it comes to computers and gadgets. Thanks to him we have some great videos of all the girls in your care being totally humiliated, that we’re going to publish online if you don’t stop us.
Mrs Turnbull: Hah! Go ahead. Do you think that makes any difference to me?
Porcelain: No, I don’t. I thought I’d give you one chance to show you care though. Luckily we’ve been based here for a while. Garry was even able to install some secret cameras in your study here.

The camera cuts back to the projection. It shows Mrs Turnbull watching as two people throw someone else down on the floor. It then shows another young girl cowering as Mrs Turnbull looms towards her. Finally it shows Mrs Turnbull holding a long cane.

Porcelain: I could have been more graphic, but some of us are sensitive about this sort of thing. I’m sure you’ll agree though it wouldn’t be good for you if we made the full uncut footage public.
Mrs Turnbull: Really? That’s your big threat. That’ll never make a difference. You forget who these kids parents are.
Porcelain: You mean the sociopaths who’ll happily ignore a giant load of horse-shit, if it means they get what they want in the end. They’ll not do anything, and even cover it up, as all that abuse gets them the end result they want. Their children complying and thinking like they do.
Mrs Turnbull: I wouldn’t put it so bluntly, but these rich and entitled folk are all the same. They look after their own and make sure nothing changes. Your threats mean nothing.
Porcelain: Oh, I’ve thought about them.

At this point Porcelain stands up from the bench. The camera briefly cuts to a close up of the shelf as Porcelain puts the doll she was playing with back on it. We see it has a red and black dress, black hair, and is positioned behind a little name plate that says Ruby Porcelain. The camera then cuts back to Porcelain as she steps into the middle of the room.

Porcelain: I think you’ll find if there is something that will make them sit up and take notice it’s cold hard cash. Well thanks to Gary’s hacking skills we’ve had a good look at this places finances, and there’s a lot to tell. Plenty of questionable expensive amongst all the staff. Cars, designer clothes, even luxury holidays, all charged as expenses. Of course I doubt all the big donators care about that, or would be the slightest bit surprised. There’s obviously a lot of nudges and winks where people fund this sort of thing to ensure preferential treatment, and even desired grades for their kids. Of course I now feel a lot less guilty about my own theft from the fundraising efforts here.
Mrs Turnbull: You never felt guilty about that for one second in the first place.
Porcelain: I’ll admit you’ve got me there. If I were you though I’d be more worried about another discovery we made. How a certain someone has been skimming a large amount of money from all the donations over the last number of years, and has put a large amount in a personal bank account in Bermuda. By now there’s about five million in there. That’s very, very naughty. I’m sure if someone was to publish the incriminating documents online, someone would be in a lots and lots of trouble.

The camera cuts to the projection, which now shows a number of computer screenshots showing online banking screens, and scans of several letters and documents.

Mrs Turnbull: I don’t know what your talking about.
Porcelain: Oh Mrs Turnbull. For someone who wanted to hold on to their dignity your making a right fool of yourself. I’m hardly going to make something like this up. Why dance around it.
Mrs Turnbull: Well after everything I’ve done, and put up with for this place over the years I deserve it. Everything I’ve taken from the parents and pupils.
Porcelain: Hate breeds hate Mrs Turnbull. If you mistreat others you can’t then blame them for the way they act towards you. Anyway, if you hated it here so much you could have just gone to another school, although I doubt you would have had the free reign or the perks  you so enjoyed here. Don’t worry though. I’m not going to publish everything strait away. I’m going to give you a fair chance to stop me.

The camera cuts to the projection again. The image changes to a film of an hourglass as sand starts to run down it.

Porcelain: To stop me though you need to do something Mrs Turnbull. Something you should have done a long time ago. Something that would have saved yourself and many others from my anger, from my wrath. Something that could have stopped the whole chain of events that ends so magnificently today.

The camera cuts to an extreme close up of Porcelain’s lips as she says the last words.

Porcelain: Play with me!

The camera cuts to a shot of Mrs Turnbull. We hear Porcelain leave by the studies door, and lock it behind her. Mrs Turnbull pulls on the shackle around her ankle but it won’t come loose. With a shout of rage she picks up a chair and throws it violently across the room, before stepping forward to find out what’s in store for her.

Scene 34:

The camera cuts to a staircase in a darkly lit cellar. As the camera looks up it a haunting rendition of an old schoolyard song is heard playing:

“School Dinners”
“School Dinners”
“Concrete Chips”
“Concrete Chips”
“Soggy Semolina”

It continues to play as Mrs Turnbull, still attached to the chain comes into view. Once at the bottom of the stairs she stops to look around. The camera cuts to where the chain is leading. It is a large tall plastic box, it’s about four foot wide and a little over twelve foot long, but lengthways it’s separated into three sections by large plastic dividers, the only gap in which is a small one at the bottom which the chain runs through. The camera cuts quickly to Mrs Turnbull’s face as she looks up, then it cuts to what she’s looking at. Above each of the three sections is a large plastic tank, each containing an ominous looking load. The first contains a dark brown, lumpy gravy, the second is full of baked beans, the third contains thick yellow custard.

Mrs Turnbull: This better be worth it. Damn right that money belongs to me.

She gets no answer, other than the continuation of the haunting melody, that continues to play in the background. Mrs Turnbull stops to look around, and tries the shackle again. With a loud sigh of annoyance she steps forward into the first section. As she does another plastic panel slides in behind her, containing her in the four foot square box, then a wooden toilet handle dangling from a toilet chain drops down and dangles in the centre of the box. The camera cuts to a shot of Mrs Turnbull inside the box as with a look of contempt she pulls the chain. A deluge of thick brown gravy comes cascading down, falling from numerous points in the ceiling. Mrs Turnbull stands statue like with defiance as it pours over her head, and continues to fall down, soaking into her cloths. Only as the deluge subsides to a trickle does Mrs Turnbull move, wiping her face with her hands. At this point the panel to the second chamber opens, the floor already covered in a puddle of gravy that seeped under the door of the first chamber. Mrs Turnbull steps into the second chamber, and the panel slides closed behind her, and another wooden handle drops down. As Mrs Turnbull reaches for the handle the camera cuts to a shot looking strait up at the top of the chamber. It consists of a large wooden hatch, split down the middle. After several seconds the hatch swings open, and a large number of baked beans fall down towards the camera. The camera then cuts to Mrs Turnbull as the large number of beans falls on her, instantly covering her in the orange tomato sauce and leaving a large number of beans clinging to her hair and clothes. This time the sheer impact of all the beans falling at once is enough to get a reaction from Mrs Turnbull. She opens her mouth in shock, and a look of anger comes across her face as she wipes her hair, and tries to readjust her clothes. The camera cuts to a shot of the panel to the third chamber, as it slides open and reveals Mrs Turnbull behind it. She angrily stomps through, kicking the beans in frustration. As the panel to the second chamber closes behind her she reaches over and tries to slide the final panel open, using just brute strength, but there is no way for her to get a strong grip on the smooth surface. As she glances up the camera cuts to the tank above the chamber, showing a close up of the surface of the dark yellow custard. Suddenly there’s a bubbling on the surface and a funnel shaped hole appears in the centre of the custard as it starts to drain away. The camera cuts to Mrs Turnbull, who this time has raised her hands to try to protect herself from the custard now pouring down, but all this is really doing is spreading the custard out over a wider area, and it stops her ducking her head down as low, meaning a thin layer of custard is soon seeping down her face. The custard continues to pour for about eight seconds, before slowing down to a trickle. Mrs Turnbull lets out a shiver as she wipes off as much as she can. The final panel slides open, and Mrs Turnbull angrily stomps forward six paces before coming to a halt. As she does the music playing fades to silent.

Mrs Turnbull: Now what on earth was the point of that? All that did was waste a load of food for nothing. What did making me do all that really achieve?

A familiar voice is heard in response.

Porcelain: Hello Mrs Turnbull. Did you enjoy your little play session?
Mrs Turnbull: What sort of silly question is …..
Porcelain: By the way, this is a pre-recorded message, so what you say matters even less than usual.
Mrs Turnbull: Oh ha-ha! Well is that it? Are we …….
Porcelain: If your listening to this you should have just had your school dinners, courtesy of my gunge tanks. Well I’ve got some good news. You get extra desert. Just continue to follow the chain until you find the entrance to the right chamber.
Mrs Turnbull: What? After all that I still don’t get out of these shackles.
Porcelain: I’m guessing your now voicing some sort of objection. Well I think it’s only fair that you of all people get to sample some of my best work.

Scene 35:

The camera cuts to a doorway in the abandoned cellar. We see a worse for wear looking Mrs Turnbull step into it and pause to take in her new location. The camera cuts to her point of view. It’s a small room, with a low ceiling. The chain Mrs Turnbull is shackled to runs close to one wall, past a heavy looking wood and iron chair, and then under a heavy looking wooden door. Of most interest though is what’s on the floor opposite the chair, just out of Mrs Turnbull’s reach. The camera cuts a number of times, showing various close ups of what’s in store. Each shot shows a frying pan, connected to a spring loaded catapult device, ready to fire. In each frying pan is a crepe style pancake, each one topped with a different messy stopping, be it maple syrup, bananas and custard, whipped cream and strawberries or chocolate sauce and sprinkles.
The camera cuts to a shot of Mrs Turnbull checking the door is locked, and then to a close up of a notice pinned on the door. It says:

“If you want to unlock this door all you have to do is sit in the chair, place your wrists in the restraints, and wait. It’s entirely up to you what you want to do, but I can think of 5 million reasons you should sit down, and you only have limited time. Princess Porcelain.”

The camera cuts back to Mrs Turnbull as she angrily tears the message off the door. She frantically paces back and forth a couple of times, before stopping at the chair. It is heavily constructed with an uncomfortable looking ornate back. On each of the heavy wooden arms is a heavy iron fixture designed to hold someone’s wrists secure. They consist of two pieces of deliberately shaped metal, currently swung out, leaving a large gap to insert a wrist in to. Mrs Turnbull comes into shot as with obvious reluctance she lowers herself on to the chair. She tries prodding the left restraint with her fingers, but nothing happens. Slowly she inserts her left wrist into the restraint. There’s a hiss as the two parts of the restraint swing inwards until they both touch. Mrs Turnbull tries pulling against it, but her left wrist is now securely pinned in place. She grimaces a little as she hesitantly places her right wrist in the right hand restraint. The right restraint closes, and the camera cuts to a shot looking out at the thirty or so frying pans, all ready to fire their messy load. Then with a whoosh one of the catapults fires, and we see a pancake whiz past at the top right of shot, then another one whizzes past to the left, then we see one topped with chocolate and strawberries coming strait towards the camera. The camera cuts to Mrs Turnbull as the same pancake hits her in the face. It sticks there for a second or two, before the pancake slowly slides down, revealing the chocolate sauce now coating some of her face, and the strawberries which are sliding down slower than the pancake. There is no respite though as Mrs Turnbull is hit by two more pancakes, one covered in whipped cream that hits the right half of her face, another covered in bananas and custard that splats into the left. Mrs Turnbull violently shakes her head in order to dislodge the pancakes, but can’t avoid a blueberry and syrup topped pancake smacking into her chest. The barrage continues for another forty seconds or so as pancakes continue to fire and hit the prone Mrs Turnbull, by the end her face and torso is completely covered in the pancakes, that slowly slide down her, revealing the various messy substances that now coat her underneath. As the pancakes slide off her face she splutters a load of mess out of her mouth before calling out.

Mrs Turnbull: Well come on then. I played your silly game. Now let me go.

There’s a further pause, before the camera cuts to Mrs Turnbull’s wrists as the shackles open again. The camera then cuts to the door as we hear it unlock, then back to Mrs Turnbull as she stands up and angrily wipes off what she can and throws much of the excess mess across the room in rage.

Mrs Turnbull: Is that it? Enough of your stupid playtime? How much more do you expect me to put up with?

Mrs Turnbull gets no answer, so she angrily continues along the chain and opens the door, revealing a set stairs going up.

Scene 36:

The camera cuts to where it’s looking down a dark flight of stairs. To one side a familiar looking chain runs down them. The familiarity is confirmed as a worse for wear looking Mrs Turnbull climbs up in to view. As she reaches the top she pauses to take in her surroundings, the camera cuts to a long shot of Mrs Turnbull standing on a high up, long gantry, going around the wall of a large section of the abandoned cellar. The room is about twenty-five foot high, and still has a large number of wine barrels stacked on top of each other at various points. Most notable though is a crudely made giant wooden barrel adjacent to the gantry, close to where Mrs Turnbull is standing. It’s about sixteen foot high, and twelve foot across at the top. The camera pans in closer until it looks down into the barrel. The upper eleven foot is empty, the sides being made of smooth polished wood, at the bottom though is a pool of a not particularly nice looking liquid. It’s not dissimilar to Porcelain’s pancake batter, but it’s thicker and a much darker brown, and has a number of brown lumps in it where something unpleasant has been mixed in with the batter. The camera cuts back to Mrs Turnbull as another recording starts to play.

Porcelain: I told you there was a lot of horse shit to be found here didn’t I.

The camera cuts to a close shot of the liquid. This time we see exactly what is floating in the batter, before cutting back to Mrs Turnbull.

Porcelain: Don’t worry, you’ll notice the chain doesn’t go anywhere near that. In fact your almost at the end. All you need to do is undo the clip and you’ll be free.

The camera cuts to a shot looking out from the gantry. On the ceiling are a number of overhead monkey bars, that lead out to over the centre of the barrel. They are all painted red, except the one in the very centre which is painted black. We see the chain reaching out as far as the black one, and see it is attached to the black monkey bar with a spring loaded clip.

Porcelain: There’s one thing I should warn you about Mrs Turnbull. Those red monkeys bars are rigged. As you move to the centre they’ll fall down behind you, meaning you won’t be able to use them to get back. It’s not an impossible jump to make though, so you should be able to get back another way. Of course if you’d rather not take the risk I won’t make you. You could just stay where you are and wait for help to arrive.

The camera cuts to Mrs Turnbull as she screams with rage. She paces angrily back and forth on the gantry, kicking and hitting anything she can see as a target of her frustration. Suddenly another voice calls out.

?????: Who’s there?
Mrs Turnbull: Who said that?
?????: Just a second.

The camera cuts to a doorway along the gantry where Mrs Turnbull is standing, barred by a door consisting of vertical and horizontal steel bars. The camera pans down to the bottom half of the door as a pair of hands grabs onto the bars, and a familiar face pulls herself up in to view.

Mrs Turnbull: Gretel! How did you end up there?
Gretel: I was doing my usual rounds, when I was hit in the face with a pie or something. I end up feeling all woozy, and next thing I know I wake up here and that Helen Mathews girl is making me play one of her crazy games. Since then I’ve been stuck in here. Someone brings some basic food and water twice a day, but they don’t even pause to talk to me.
Mrs Turnbull: Have you tried escaping?
Gretel: Well obviously, but the walls are all solid, and the door won’t give. It’s an electronic lock, so I can’t even try picking it. What about you, can’t you get me out?

Mrs Turnbull tries pulling on the bars of the door, but they hold.

Mrs Turnbull: It feels solid, and I can’t go anywhere while I’m stuck shackled to this chain.

Mrs Turnbull pauses to look around. Then we see a look of realisation on her face as she comes up with an idea.

Mrs Turnbull: Gretel. Is there anything in your cell you could use to hold on to the chain, or secure it to the door.
Gretel: There’s a couple of padlocks from the game Helen made me play.
Mrs Turnbull: Perfect. Get them while I wrap the chain around the door.

Mrs Turnbull takes up some of the slack of the chain, and wraps it around a couple of bars on the door. Gretel passes her the two padlocks, and she locks them both into the chain, securing it to the door.

Mrs Turnbull: Right. Wish me luck.

Mrs Turnbull turns around, and pauses to compose herself before reaching up to the monkey bars. At a measure pace she makes her way out over the giant barrel to the centre. The camera cuts to the pool of batter and manure as the red rungs fall down behind Mrs Turnbull and sink slowly into the pool below. The camera cuts to look down on Mrs Turnbull, now dangling above the pool. The camera then pans down until it looks at Mrs Turnbull head on. She gingerly lets go with one hand, and pulls as much slack from the chain forward as she can. She then grabs onto the rung with both hands again, taking a deep breath before reaching for the clip. After a little fiddling with it the chain drops down from the clip, but because of the extra slack it now hangs down from the shackle on her ankle. She pauses again, before very slowly bringing her ankle up, so she can keep hold of the chain as she slowly threads it through the shackle, and still has it in hand as the end passes out. She then grabs the rung with both hands, still holding on to the chain, and breaths out with a huge sigh of relief. She then threads as much chain over the rung as she can, before using the clip to attach the chain back to the rung. She takes another deep breath, before twisting her arms, and then untwisting, so she’s now facing back the way she came. She then raises her legs up until both of them are wrapped over the chain. She then reaches out and grabs the chain with one hand, and then quickly grabs it with the other. She drops down several feet, but she manages to hold on to the chain, which now bridges the gap between the rung and the door. The camera cuts to Gretel, still looking on, then it cuts back to Mrs Turnbull as she slowly shuffles her way along the chain until she is able to get her legs back down on the gantry. She stays kneeling on the ground, breathing deeply from the tension and excursion. Finally she looks up at Gretel:

Mrs Turnbull: I’m going after Helen. I’ll get you out as soon as possible.
Gretel: Give her one for me.

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

Sian: Welcome back to Comeuppance! I’m Sian Welby. Tonight we have fashion vlogger Princess Priscilla, student union officer Monique and nutritionist Cara in the offing for a slopping! And I have to say, the lineup has generated a lot of debate on social media, including some strong criticism of the show itself—

Sian is interrupted by shouting from the audience. The camera swings round to reveal a short-haired woman on her feet, dressed in a pink t-shirt with H.Y.M.E.N. emblazoned across it.

Protester: …You put women in cages! You dunk them in gunk! And now you take the piss out of feminism! This programme is a pile of patriarchal puke!

Sian: [to Monique] Has this got anything to do with you?

Monique shakes her head with a blank expression.

Protester: The director is a misogynist and a perv! He gets off on the humiliation of women! Well I have a message for him!

The Protester pulls off her t-shirt, revealing herself to be braless. A huge cheer goes up from the male contingent of the audience. The crew scramble to provide pixelation.

Protester: [chanting] MAMMARIES NOT MUCKY DIP!! MAMMARIES NOT MUCKY DIP!!

Sian: [laughing] Oh for goodness sake! Tom and Charlie, please escort this “lady” from the premises!

The two guards stride into the audience. Unabashed by the woman’s nudity, they grab her by an arm each and march her out of the studio as she continues to chant.

Sian: Anyone else? Let’s get this over and done with.

There are no takers from the audience.

Sian: Good. As I was saying, this episode is attracting a bit of criticism, but hey, we can take it! We love to hear what you think, either on the Comeuppance Facebook page or on Twitter, using the hashtag #comeuppance.

Sian takes up position in front of the cages.

Sian: But remember, it’s votes not voices that will seal the fates of these three! Ladies, the midway scores are in and they make for interesting reading. I could divulge them to you now, but it’s more fun to watch you squirm with the uncertainty while we present your possible punishment to you! So without further ado…

Audience: LET’S PREVIEW THE GOO!!!

The view switches to the top-down camera. The design in the circular opening is instantly recognisable as an “acid house” smiley face. The gunge is a dazzling canary yellow, though blending to a sunny orange in places, with a dimpled smile and a pair of dot eyes conscientiously drawn in black. As the camera zooms in on the beaming yellow icon, the faces displayed in the corner of the screen show rather more mixed expressions. Priscilla’s mouth hangs open in disbelief, Monique grins nervously as she bites a nail, and Cara purses her lips in a squeamish pout.

The scene transitions to the rim-side camera, the smiley face stretching before it. The gunk has a smooth appearance with a muted shininess like thick custard. The surface is generally quite flat, though with a gently layered texture. An additional glaze of black goo forms the facial features, standing an inch higher than the yellow background.

Sian: What a friendly sight to greet one of our contestants! That bright yellow hue will be particularly humiliating, and it comes with the fittingly sulphurous stench of rotten eggs! Uugghh, rather one of you than me!

The camera sweeps the three discomfited women in their cages.

Sian: Ok, I think I’ve tormented them enough! Let’s reveal the mid-way scores; they are as follows:

Priscilla puts her hands to her cheeks, her jaw dropping. Cara looks a little edgy. Monique smiles and gives an approving nod.

Priscilla: Oh no! Not again!

Sian: [looking very pleased] Oh yes again! A nice robust lead for Priscilla there. Cara occupying the middle ground. But Monique, I wouldn’t smirk if I were you; you know what happened to Veronica last week! Ladies, in the wake of these scores, you each have fifteen seconds to tell the public why you shouldn’t say hello to that smiley face! Monique, we’ll hear from you first, and bear in mind the muck is far worse than any Rag Week bean bath.

Monique: [arms folded and looking aloof] Call me a killjoy all you want. There’s a time and place for students to enjoy themselves, and it’s not at my union! Having fun might offend the differently humoured, and it’s my responsibility to uphold a safe sp—

The klaxon blares, cutting off Monique. A few boos emanate from the audience.

Sian: Hmmm, they weren’t amused by that, Monique! Cara, let’s hear from you next.

Cara: [shrugs with a sweet smile] There’s no way I can go in the Mucky Dip! That stuff looks like it has a poor glycemic index and is full of empty calories, and I bet it isn’t gluten free either. [Clutches stomach] Uuuff! I feel bloated just looking at it!

Cara finishes just in the time for the klaxon, which is followed by a moderate level of booing.

Sian: Ha, being bloated will be the least of your problems! [Steps up close to Priscilla’s cage] Now then my princess! I don’t want to rub it in, or gloat, or be in any way delighted at how the scores are shaping up, but your crown appears to be slipping! You had a miracle escape last week but I wouldn’t count on it happening again, so you better make a killer appeal here. Oh, and don’t let my insipid lipstick put you off hun.

Priscilla: [wringing her hands beseechingly] You can’t gunge me! I’m the girly girl you can hang out with online, the confidant who gives you makeup advice you were afraid to ask, the popular girl you wish spoke to you at school. I’m the lovely, beautiful Princ—

The siren blasts, followed by profuse booing and hissing. Priscilla wilts with dismay at the response.

Sian: [nodding grimly] Self-deprecating as ever. Not! See you at the results segment, Princess!

Sian heads to the front of the stage with the cages behind her.

Sian: Whew folks, that was eventful! We always enjoy a lively audience, but we got more than we bargained for this time! Feelings clearly running high in this poll, so why not translate those sentiments into a smelly, squelchy send-down for one of these scoundrels! There’s still plenty of time to vote, and I hope you appreciate that anything can happen on Comeuppance. Over to you.

The segment opens with a birds-eye view of the bright yellow smiley that is the Mucky Dip. Sian stands with her henchmen by the wall of the vat.

Sian: [facing up to the camera] I’m Sian Welby and this is Comeuppance, the show that’s no adversary to controversy! Voting has been vigorous as always, but all good things must come to an end and the poll is now closed. So don’t call – it won’t count and you may still get charged.

Sian and the guards approach the cages.

Sian: We’re just doing the final verification as we can’t afford any errors in this crucial matter. But Priscilla, it’s looking rather grim for you after those half-time scores, isn’t it?

Priscilla: [cringing] It’ll swing away from me like it did last week! It just has to!

Sian: [smirking] We shall see. Cara, Priscilla’s midway lead wasn’t as big as some we’ve seen in recent episodes; do you think the vote might swing against you as Priscilla so desperately hopes?

Cara: [looking anxious] Maybe there’ll be a bit of a swing, but I think I’ll be safe.

Sian: Your face says you fear otherwise! Monique, your students really want to see you go in; are you worried of a last minute surge in calls from the Larchester area?

Monique: Nah, students can’t afford that many premium-rate calls!

Sian: Time to see if you’re right. Here come those all-important final scores.

The lights go down except for three lonely spotlights glaring on the contestants.

Sian: The people’s verdict is as follows:

Priscilla: Noooo!!

Priscilla’s dress crumples ungracefully as her knees go weak. Monique gives a double thumbs up. Cara smiles with relief.

Sian: YES!! Good choice folks! Gents, please place the Princess on her throne!

Priscilla cowers in the corner of her cage as the guards unlock the door.

Priscilla: I’m sorry I’ve been vain! I can change!

Sian: [dismissively] S’too late!

Merciless, the guards pull out Priscilla and bustle her over to the chair.

Priscilla: I’ll forego make-up, I’ll wear a sack for the rest of the season! Pleeeasse!!

Chuckling, Sian unlocks Monique’s cage.

Sian: Monique, your fellow students hoped to depose you into our gruesome gloop, but the coup has failed and you can return to campus clean and dry. Is a purge of the plotters on the cards?

Monique: Heh, I can’t purge the whole uni! I’ll settle for flaunting my Jammy Dodger trophy at the next general meeting.

Sian: And here is said trophy for you to rightfully flaunt. I know that the banter I had with you upset some viewers, but it has to be said you gave as good as you got and you’ve shown you’re not as humourless as the stereotype suggests. Thanks for coming on and being a sport.

Monique: Thanks Sian, I enjoyed it.

Sian: I do have one piece of bad news though: you have to exit via the right wing of the stage!

Monique: [smiling] Oh, in that case, I’ll have to propose a motion condemning you!

Sian: Quaking in my boots. Ladies and gents, please put your left hands together for Monique!

Grinning and brandishing her trophy, Monique departs to the standard slow hand-clap. Sian saunters over to the one cage that remains occupied.

Sian: As for you Cara, you’ve avoided the cold gruel this time around, but you haven’t earned the right to come off the Comeuppance diet regime.

Cara: [calm] So see you next week then?

Sian: Yep, same time, same place. And who knows, you may get your comeuppance yet!

Cara nods in acceptance. Sian heads towards the infamous plinth.

Sian: And for those of you that were offended by my exchange with Monique, please don’t all write to OfCom at once. We’d like to stay on the air to bring you a few more fabulous comeuppances before the series is out. [Arrives at the plinth] Speaking of which! [Grins and rubs her hands together] Princess Priscilla has been hauled into position above our baneful boutique, and she’s all set for her makeover! [Looks up] Priz, describe the fragrance to us!

The doom-laden dirge commences. The camera hovers just over the edge of the Mucky Dip, lined up with the dimpled smiley face, the screen filled with dazzling yellow. Then the shot pans upwards, meeting the hem of Priscilla’s fishtail dress, which drapes downwards. Priscilla’s feet are hidden from view, but she has in fact had her shoes removed by the guards, as is standard protocol. The camera continues up the opulent rogue garment, passing Priscilla’s seated hips. It sweeps over the snug bodice and the delicate lacework veiling her cleavage, before coming to rest at the eighteen-year-old’s face. The vlogger’s gloved arms clutch at her temples, her green eyes wide and her mouth gaping in horror as the full gravity of the situation sinks in.

Sian: Ah, look at that! The muck may be smiling, but she isn’t! [Turns to the camera] Now folks, I want it on record that I present this show purely as a service to society, [flexes knuckles] and I don’t take any personal pleasure in doing this. [Breaks into a big grin] No pleasure as at all! [Places both hands on the big red button. Mutters to self] A faux pas – the girl called my shoes a faux pas!

Priscilla: [wailing] Oh no! Oh no!!

Sian: Priscilla, on behalf of everyone who’s tired of vain vloggers and their fashion prattle…

Sian and audience: HERE IS YOUR COMEUPPANCE!!!

With a beatific air, Sian pumps down the button with both arms. A series of bangs causes Priscilla to jump and flinch as sparks light up the studio. Priscilla adopts the foetal position as she hurtles into the vat. The audience’s cheers crescendo in time with the dramatic up-splash of yellow. An effusive wave of slop overspills the rim, oozing down the sides like a great urn of school custard. The cables jiggle and jerk as a bubbling sound effect plays, then they snap tight. Priscilla re-emerges from the gloop, transformed from sassy scarlet to vulgar lemon, greeted by the spectators’ braying and the mocking trombone.

The Princess is complete encased in the thick yellow gunk, though one arm and hip is a golden orange and she is streaked with bits of black, including one comical blob stuck to her mouth and chin like a Homer Simpson five o’clock shadow. Although the unshapely coating makes it hard to be certain, her dress appears rather more bulging than before she went in, indicating that it has filled up with muck. For sure, a lot is pouring out the hem of the bedraggled garment, splatting nastily back into the Mucky Dip below. Priscilla’s cleavage is heaped with goo, the lacework saturated. Her bare armpits and shoulders squirm and shudder under a cold slick of sludge.

Priscilla’s meticulously coiffured upstyle is now a saturated dome of shiny yellow. Her eyes struggle to blink open between her heavily layered forehead and cheeks, her mouth bizarrely askew as she tries to spit away the muck. The smelly stuff has gone up her nose and her ears are full of it.

Priscilla: Yeuurghh! Yeeeuurrghhh! YEEEEURRRRRGGGHHHH!!

Sian dances around the plinth as she points and laughs.

Sian: Yes oh yes!! Brilliant! Magnifique! [kisses her fingers] Now that was a haul and a half! What do you think of your new look Priz?

Priscilla: Yeuuuchh!! It’s all ruined! Everything’s ruined!

Priscilla peels off one of her slimy opera gloves and slings it into the Mucky Dip. The audience are in tears of laughter.

Sian: Yes, I suppose it is rather. And if I must be blunt, Priz, that shade of yellow really doesn’t suit your hair! [Looks off-camera] Anything we can do to fix that, guys?

Jets of green and blue gunge spray upwards from the rim of the Dip on either side of the Princess, while a jet of brown fires at a lower angle from behind. Priscilla squeals as it blasts her bum through the wire-mesh chair. The coup de grace is an eruption of white from the front, which splurges over her chest and face.

Sian: Ahh, much better! That’ll teach you to diss my wardrobe, you little twerp! Ha ha ha! That was a glorious comeuppance if I do say so myself, and I’m confident no-one will object if we re-watch Priz’s makeover in super slow-mo!

The replay shows Priscilla petrified as the explosions go off around her. Cowering, her head turns one way then the other. Then, as she senses the cables going slack, she bends forward with her arms bunched in front of her, her legs folding up as she plunges into the dip.

Sian: And from above!

The bird’s-eye camera replays the red-clad figure getting smaller as she falls towards the sea of yellow. The smiley face shatters rudely as she splashes down, fragments of black carried away by the expanding wavefront. Priscilla’s brunette hair is the last part of her visible, before the churning muck slides over it.

Sian: And with the foundation layer complete it’s time for the finishing frills!

The third scene relives the moment when the slime sprays up from the edge of the Mucky Dip. First Priscilla raises her arms, trying to shield herself from the green and blue on either side of her. Then her mouth opens in a wide O as an explosion of brown sprays out from her rear. Finally, the cannon at the front lets rip, coating the spluttering Princess in white.

The scene reverts to a live shot of Priscilla. She has wiped the worst of the yellow, black and white from her face, and presently winces and bleats as she squeezes muck out of her dress.

Sian: Priz, you can take your new designer apparel back with you to Derry. I look forward to you exhibiting it in your next vlog post; it might be worth watching for once!

Priscilla: [in a wobbling voice] Sian, if you thought I was scathing of your style last time, wait til you see my next review!

Sian: [snorting] Are you for real? Take a look in the mirror sunshine! But seriously Priz, despite our disagreements, I can’t deny you’ve been a very good sport. So thanks for coming on, and I hope the old adage “all publicity is good publicity” rings true for you.

Priscilla musters a weak smile in return to Sian’s words. She puts a hand on her hip and tries to look as sauve as a girl covered in stinking, multi-coloured muck can look, but her pose is disrupted as the gunge jets squirt her once again, causing her to scream and cower.

Sian: More mascara! Yay! [turns to the audience] And that brings us to the end of a tumultuous episode of Comeuppance. Turns out even a Princess isn’t too precious for our Mucky Dip! Enjoy the rest of the evening and see you all next time!

Sian goes to the edge of the stage and waves as the camera zooms away from her. Out in the reception area, the protester (now reunited with her t-shirt) rants at the camera but is fortunately muted under the outro music. Back inside the studio, a caged Cara wraps her arms around herself and shudders as she looks up at the trashed comeuppancee. The crew torment poor Priscilla by intermittently blasting her bottom, causing her to yelp each time. The final scene is a slow-mo replay of la femme jaune rising from the Mucky Dip.

A couple of things:

• Any mention of anybody on any of the forii is intended only in fun and as parody, no offence meant, so please don’t take any
• There is mention of manure in this story, but for anyone who that may put off, note that sometimes the threat of something is more powerful than the action…
• This really is the finale this time

WARNING: This story contains adult content throughout

Part 6 – Penalties

Jo whirled round, looking for a means of escape. Five figures clad in black robes, their faces obscured by Venetian carnival masks surrounded her in the barn she’d been invited to, under the guise of an invitation to a rave in the woods. “Leave me alone!” screeched Jo, a note of panic in her voice “Let me out of here!” Jo sprinted for a gap between two of the figures but the five fell on her, grabbing her legs and arms firmly. Another spotlight came on and illuminated a lone chair ten feet from where Jo had been surrounded. The five lifted her and carried her to the chair. She thrashed, she kicked, she tried to bite, anything to escape their grasp, but despite her athleticism, the five were strong and held her sitting in the chair while one zip-tied her ankles to the legs, and her arms behind her to the chair frame.

Thrashing against her bonds, Jo attempted to move the chair, but the bonds cut into her ankles and wrists, and she soon became exhausted, her head slumped down to her chest, panting with exertion.

At this point, three of the figures moved to stand in front of Jo, in their dark robes, their porcelain masks betraying no emotion.

One of the figures spoke:

“Dear, dear, dear. What’s the matter Jo? Not in the mood to dance anymore?”

A second spoke, in a Scottish accent “Naw, looks more like she wants tae take the weight aff her feet”

The third spoke, also Scottish “Wael, ah guess that means the show ken start”

Jo’s ears pricked up – her head shot up to look at the three. The accents were unmistakable… She opened her mouth to speak as the three lifted their hands to their faces and removed the masks.

“Sharon! Wendy! Ruth!”

The three, for it was them, regarded Jo dispassionately.

Jo, recovering quickly, put on her best fake smile and said “Girls! So good to see you, I’ve missed you”

The girls only stared back.

Jo continued with her jovial smile “Ha ha ha! Good joke girls, you really got me going. Those masks – you really… Phew! Ha ha ha… OK, let me go, and let’s go have a drink and we’ll have a good laugh about all this”

The girls continued to stare, unblinking

“…Alright, alright, you got me, come on now… untie me and let’s go…”

Still no reaction from the three

Jo’s pretence of being happy quickly melted, overtaken by anger “Now listen to me, you slags! This isn’t funny anymore. Untie me or so help me I will fuck you up so bad when I get free, you think you can…”

“SHUT UP!” shouted Ruth, interrupting. “Ye don’t get tae tell us wat tae dae any more”

Jo’s eyes were hard, cold as she stared at Ruth “Really? You sure about that? Do you really want me to tell everyone? I’m sure lots of people would be interested in your little secret…”

Ruth’s face flashed with anger as she stomped up to Jo, and pushed her nose millimetres from Jo’s face.

“Really?! Are ye gunna tell everywan how I’m a dyke, a muff-diver?” she hissed at Jo “A dirty fucking lesbian? Is that what you’re gunna dae? Well… you cannae hold that above my heed any longer, ya hear me, ya *bitch*? Guess wat…? I came oot a week or so ago. It’s taem I was truthful to mysel’, and everywan else. Ye have *nae* power left oer me”

Ruth stepped away, and Sharon stepped up next to her, taking Ruth’s hand and squeezing it reassuringly. Ruth smiled at Sharon, and wiped the tears that had formed at the corner of her eyes away.

Jo looked in disbelief at Ruth. It was true she had blackmailed Ruth after they’d spent the night together a year or so ago. Ruth had been experimenting with her sexuality and Jo had made a drunken pass at her after way too many drinks, so Ruth had decided to give it a try and they’d slept together. After that, Ruth had discovered she enjoyed the company of other girls, although she wasn’t yet ready to admit it to the world. Jo had sworn off, deciding to stick to men. However, to stop it ever getting out, Jo blackmailed Ruth, swearing she’d tell the whole campus she was a lesbian if Ruth didn’t swear unflinching loyalty to her. Jo knew that even if Ruth tried to claim it had been a mutual thing, Jo’s reputation would mean she’d be believed over Ruth. Jo had held this over Ruth’s head for the entire year. Ruth had felt so awkward at the prospect of showering with the other girls after every game, so she tended to find an excuse to wait and shower after everyone else as often as possible. When she couldn’t find an excuse and didn’t want to make a thing of not showering, she had to avoid Jo’s gaze, Jo’s open disgust at the thought Ruth might be staring at Jo’s naked body.

“So you finally found the balls to admit you were a lezzer, eh, Ruth?” spat Jo “And Sharon too? You two should be very happy… Filthy dykes”

With a roar of anger, Wendy lunged for Jo, swinging her arm back to slap Jo as hard as she could across the face, but Ruth grabbed her sister’s hand firmly and held it

“NAW SIS, STOP! I git you’re defending me, but she’s no worth it. Everyone knows, Mam, Da… you… I don’t care who knows now, me and Sharon, we’re so happy. And besides… remember, no bruises on her” she finished, tilting her head towards Jo.

Jo roared with frustration “You three dumb *cunts*… LET ME GO…MMMPH!”

Her mouth open, she suddenly felt it being filled and the words were muffled. A gag had been quickly placed around her head and into her mouth, muffling her words mid-scream, and done up tight. Now her screams were muffled by the gag filling her mouth.

“Oh… finally… shut… UP!” said the figure that had speedily put the gag on. Stepping out in front of Jo, she regarded her with indifference as Jo struggled once more against her bonds, making muffled noises into the gag. The figure cocked her head to one side, like an animal watching its prey – curious, intrigued, but certainly not scared.

Jo once again exhausted her current reserves of energy screaming vainly into the gag, thrashing her limbs wildly, and flopped backwards, panting. This figure reached up and removed her mask.

Jo’s eyes went wide, the colour drained from her exquisitely made-up face. Her mask of disbelief and terror was as if she’d seen a ghost. To her, she may as well have been, as Linda unmasked, and pulled down her hood.

NO! cried Jo, through the gag. Her eyes the size of saucers, she thought “I defeated you! I finished you off! There was no coming back from what I did! I took your *boyfriend*, I took your dignity, I took pictures of you naked, humiliated! You’re too spineless to have come back from that – you should be curled up *dead* somewhere!”

Linda had pretty much read Jo’s thoughts, and replied “You thought you’d put me down for good, didn’t you? You thought there was no coming back from what you did to me. You’d taken my dignity, you’d taken my boyfriend, the man I *loved*… Well Jo, you’re wrong. I’m strong, and your reign of terror, it ends tonight. Everyone that you’ve wronged, everyone you’ve trodden on…wasn’t that your little catchphrase ‘Get out of my way or get trodden on?’. Well, if you tread on someone too many times, it’s only a matter of time before they learn to dodge, and sink their teeth into your ankle”.

Jo was gnawed by the feeling that her power was starting to crumble. She pushed it down, unflappable, or so she thought – but it crept back. These girls used to do whatever she said, but now there seemed to be only malice in their eyes. She silently prayed they were going to do her no harm. Maybe they just want to scare me… well, OK… it’s worked. Taught me a lesson… Shit me right up…The fear was sitting in the pit of Jo’s stomach, but she was fucked if she was going to let it show.

Linda stepped back up to Jo, and said “Right then Jo… I’m going to remove the gag, but you have to promise to be civil…”

Linda removed the gag.

“Fuck you!” she spat at Linda “Once I get free you’re dead, all four of you!”

The four drew together and Linda spoke again “Well, we’ll let you go, but first we’ve arranged a little show of which you are to be the star. You love the attention so much; you’re certainly going to get it tonight”.

The other three laughed at the pun. Oh – she’s going to get it alright

A camera was set up in front of Jo by the fifth figure, attached to the laptop that had appeared to be part of the decoy DJ booth set up when Jo had entered. The girls wheeled out four flatbed carts loaded with metal buckets and assorted other substances.

Linda stood in front of Jo and explained “Right Jo – you’re about to have your debut as an internet cam girl. What’s that, you ask? Oh yes, you’re no good with that computer stuff… You’ll be filmed live and appearing on messycamgurlz.com. There are lots of horny guys… (and girls)” she added as she only realised that herself “watching this stream and wanting to see you get your comeuppance. Your very *messy* comeuppance…You see, we’re making this fair. If people want to see you get yours, we’ll give it to them. If no-one wants to watch, we’ll stop. Democracy in action”.

Linda spun round the laptop to show the feed – Jo centre, tied to the chair. The laptop screen also hosted the control software for the cam broadcast – in the corner was a big status box which said “OFFLINE”.

Linda explained further “When we go live, we’ll monitor the number of viewers watching your fate here. If it keeps increasing, we’ll give the crowd what they want, and keep covering you in *disgusting* *muck*” Linda’s words slowed as she described to Jo what her fate was to be, enjoying drawing out the obvious discomfort that registered on Jo’s face as the thought of what was to come sank in. She continued “If they stop watching, if the number of viewers drops for more than a minute, we’ll stop, and you are free to leave. Oh, by the way, make all the complaints you want, cry for help to the viewers. It won’t do any good” Linda smiled sweetly “They think you’re playing a role, and they’ll love it the more you protest…It’ll just make it all the hotter for them. So, to put it bluntly – Jo – you, my girl, are *fucked*” The other three gasped, eyes wide – Linda never swore, but she took ample relish in being able to use a little colourful language, being as it was a special occasion.

Jo only had a moment to start to digest what was to happen before Linda said to everyone “…places, please! We are streaming in 10…”

The four girls quickly put their masks back on, pulling their hoods over the faces as Linda counted down.

Jo struggled once more against her bonds as the red light on the camera went on, and the laptop displayed in the corner “viewers : 3”

Linda stepped back in front of the camera next to Jo struggling in her chair and greeted the audience, in a voice as soft and sensual as syrup oozing down cleavage “Hi there, boys and girls. We have Jo here… gorgeous, isn’t she? Well, she’s been a very, *very* bad girl, and we think she deserves some punishment… we’re going to get her all messy. If you agree she deserves to be punished; if you want to see her get messier, tell your friends. If by the end of the 20 minute stream we get enough viewers, we’ll hit what you might call… the jackpot”

Jo turned to look at Linda with wide eyes, too stunned to speak – silently asking What’s the jackpot?

Linda smiled and continued to the audience “What’s the jackpot, you ask?” – well, if we hit 100 viewers by the end of the stream in 20 minutes – we have an ominous looking pipe right above Jo”

Jo looked up, blinking against the spotlight shining directly down on her. She could see however about ten feet above her a metal pipe which widened at the end, pointing towards her. The pipe was about a foot in diameter.

Linda continued again “That pipe is connected to the farm’s slurry tank. If we hit 100 viewers in 20 minutes, that yucky, horrible, *disgusting* slurry tank is going to be emptied… all over pretty little Jo here”

Jo’s eyed widened. What? No way… they wouldn’t dare, they couldn’t cover her in… liquid manure? She almost retched just at the thought of it. She could only stare helplessly and tried to put the thought of what might happen if they reached 100 viewers out of her mind. That stinking slurry would ruin her.

“So, let’s get started shall we?” said Linda, ominously, with a wicked smile “Ladies…?”

Ruth and Wendy moved to pick up two large custard pies from one of the carts, and stood either side of Jo. Jo looked at the pies, held close to her face so she could see the mounds of thick whipped cream – like mountain peaks that close – just centimetres from her face. Then, disbelief at the situation kicked in, and Jo found her voice again.

“You would *not* dare…” she said to the Scottish sisters, with a derisive smirk and a snide shake of the head.

“No?” they asked rhetorically, as they moved quickly and slammed them either side of Jo’s face. Cream sprayed over her shoulders and landed on the concrete floor behind her. Her beautiful make up was destroyed in one simple motion. The two held the pies in place and smeared them around the sides of her face, before wiping them smoothly up into her elegantly styled blonde hair. Jo’s face was a mask of white cream and yellow custard as the sisters dropped the pie cases to the floor, and brushed the remaining cream off their hands in a satisfied “cleaning” motion. Jo spat pie out of her mouth, and gasped, she had never imagined anyone would ever do something as base as push a pie into her face! She should at least consider herself lucky none had gone up her nose and her eyes had closed reflexively when the pies met their target. She couldn’t see, and with her arms bound she couldn’t clear her eyes, so she was blinded to the next two pies that the sisters applied, one straight into her face, and the other planted on top of her head to really ruin her hair. She sat with her face in its creamy custardy prison, before Wendy reached down and cleared her eyes. In the feed she could see of herself, she’d never looked worse. Pie cream and custard covered her entire face, and her hair was matted into clumps of white and yellow where the sisters had smeared the goo into her blonde locks. She could hardly recognise herself, and this was only after 4 pies!

Jo gasped in shock and indignation “I can’t believe you’d do that! How *dare* you?!”

Linda ignored Jo and again addressed the viewers “Well, seems you guys and gals liked that, we’ve got a few more viewers, so what shall we use next? I know… some lovely chocolate to trash that beautiful blonde hair!”

Wendy picked up a big metal bucket full of chocolate syrup.

Jo looked up at the bucket and couldn’t suppress a laugh “Ha – no, you’ve got to be joking” As Wendy lifted the bucket above her head, the defiance had already begun to soften and there was a note of doubt in her voice “You wouldn’t dare! You’d never dare do that to me! Not the chocolate, not in my lovely hair, you’d better not fuuuuUUUUUUUNNNNGHHH!”

Jo’s curse was cut off by Wendy starting to pour the thick sticky syrup all over Jo’s head. The bucket was well-filled and Jo’s hair stood no chance against the sweet sticky dark brown mess which covered her head like a cap, before running down over her eyes, down the back of her head, rivulets trickling down the back of her neck to her bare shoulders and down her back causing her to shriek and squirm against her bonds. The flow of chocolate stopped, and Jo shook her head, droplets of chocolate splattering against the floor as she tried to get her sodden hair – clinging to her face – out of it.

Jo was disgusted – there were dozens of perverts watching her getting all messy and probably getting their rocks off to it! Ugh, the thought of those guys pleasuring themselves to the sight of her getting covered in slop, made her feel so dirty. She vocalised her thoughts “What kind of deviants are you – enjoying seeing me get treated like this?”

Linda smiled at the viewers, Jo’s outburst would only play to what the viewers wanted to see – “Speaking of which –  welcome to all our new viewers who have joined us to see Jo get what she so richly deserves… 15 of you watching now, say hi, we are watching the chat, tell us what you think”

Picking up another large metal bucket, heavy enough to show strain in Sharon’s arms as she lifted it, Sharon closed in on Jo. Jo, still defiant, said to Sharon “there’s no way that’s going over my head, forget that… no chance…” Sharon tried to lift the bucket up above Jo’s head, but it was full to the brim, and too heavy. She had to drop it to the ground with a soft clang, causing some custard to spill over the rim and splat on the floor. Jo looked triumphantly at Sharon “ha!” She said derisively “too weak”.

Sharon shrugged and said “Ruth, give us a hand with this…”

Jo’s eyes widened as Ruth and Sharon comfortably lifted the bucket between them and began to protest “No… no…! NO! No nono no…!! Ungh-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” her protests quickening as the two hefted the bucket high and quickly dumped its contents over Jo’s head, her protests turning to a squeal of disgust as the yellow gunk slipped over her head in a wave, splattered over her shoulders and hit the floor with a wet slap. The custard was cold, and Jo’s bare shoulders quivered involuntarily at the temperature. “Urrggggh”… moaned Jo at the coldness of the custard now covering almost every inch of bare skin, her legs below the short skirt had been covered, as had her toes in the open-toed shoes, and she wiggled them in disgust, trying to get the custard off.

Linda looked at the viewer count, they were climbing steadily, so after Jo had experienced the cold custard, she again spoke to the viewers “29 of you watching now… we see you all in the chat… hi to TVGunk – how’s this for Comeuppance? Hi to writingisprettyimportanttome, and a message from one user asking if next time Jo could wear white jeans… A little confused, that one I think…one user complaining about us not using a *white* plastic chair… but puppy987 has asked if we might use some savoury substances, as they say they’re a ‘humiliation junkie’ and the sweet stuff isn’t cutting it… well puppy, your wish is my command…! I wonder if Larissa might be watching and taking notes…?”

Next Linda herself picked up a bucket of beans. Stepping close to Jo, Linda smiled at her, enjoying the power she had, as Jo now looked at Linda with some trepidation, perhaps even fear. The confidence and defiance Jo had exhibited at the start had been dulled considerably once it had become clear she really was not the one in control in this situation, and her protests were falling only on deaf ears.

“Hmmm…” taunted Linda, “what shall we do with these…?”

Her eyes settled on Jo’s impressive cleavage, already slimed with custard, and chocolate. Her hand moved gently to the top of the corset, and unlacing it at the back slightly to loosen it, she pulled the front away from Jo’s body.

Jo quickly realised Linda’s intentions and began to plead “No… please… no… not down my top, not the beans! No… not down there… no… no… PLEASE! ARRRGH!”

Jo squealed again Linda poured the beans into Jo’s top. The soft beans engulfed Jo’s orbs, they squished between Jo’s ample breasts and the orange sauce flowed over her nipples inside the top. The beans moved slowly, agonisingly, oozing down her cleavage and over the front of her breasts, not being shy in teasing her nipples as they flowed inexorably southwards, down to her belly, before becoming trapped between the bottom of her corset top and the waistband of her skirt. Jo shivered in disgust and let out a mortified “uuurgh!”. Her hands were bound so she could do nothing but be subject to the slow horrible caresses of the beans over her naked skin inside the corset top. She’d bet she could feel the location of every single horrid bean on her soft flesh, and it felt like thousands were currently covering her torso.

Linda commentated “So that was a big hit with you guys and gals – we’re up to 42 viewers now. carnivalpony liked the shift to savoury, and would like some more… Right you are, horsie…”

Wendy picked up another bucket, this one full of mushy peas. Tilting the contents to show the camera, then turning to Jo and doing the same so she could see what was to come, Jo ranted “Oh God… what’s in there… peas? Mushy peas…? I hate those… Christ… no.. NOoooooooowwww!!!” her ranting turned from high pitched to a low groan of protest as the thick sloppy peas fell over her head and into the open corset to join the beans. Her entire upper torso was engulfed in a vile mix of cold baked beans and mushy peas. Once the bucket had been emptied, Wendy couldn’t resist an extra flourish – she stepped close up to Jo, and placing her palms either side of Jo’s stomach outside the corset, squeezed in and up, firmly massaging the beans in and up, so they flowed, they squished back up and out over the top of the corset. Jo enjoyed their journey up even less than the journey down, letting out no words but a disgusted “uuuuhhh” as the mix of textures, lumpy and smooth, but very cold, teased against her naked skin.

Linda smiled to herself – they were well on track for the jackpot. They’d spent days carefully orchestrating this evening’s events. Danny’s computer know-how, Ruth’s engineering background, speaking to Sharon’s uncle (who owned the building they were using) to get his permission. Everything had worked out just like they wanted. And at the end, it would look like Jo would suffer the horrific indignity and disgust of being covered in awful smelly slurry. Well, thought Linda with a smile, that’s what she’ll think… In reality, the tank above Jo’s head was full of poorly-mixed gravy, kept lukewarm, and with an uneven lumpy texture such that at first Jo would believe it really was slurry. They couldn’t do something *that* awful to her, even if she might have deserved it. Much better to make her sorry by making her believe it would happen instead…

Linda returned to read from the chat “So we now have 56 viewers, and a spirited debate has broken out whether getting messy is all about humiliation or about comedy… and a side argument about whether watching girls get covered in goo is sexist or anti-feminist… guys and gals… if we could maybe just focus on the enduring image of Jo getting covered in all manner of gunk, for your entertainment? We have a message from a user CharlesZW, who would like to see a little more skin. Yes! Let’s do that”

Linda stepped up to the figure behind the desk, and hit the mute button on the audio stream, so the viewers couldn’t hear. What was about to happen was for Jo’s benefit only. The fifth figure reached up and slowly removed his mask. Jo knew something had been nagging at her, but what with being tied up and covered in gunge – she couldn’t quite put her finger on *what*. Then she realised, she’d never seen who the fifth figure was underneath the mask.  Behind the desk, next to Linda; that figure was now removing his mask. A worry that had been gnawing at her in the back of her mind suddenly connected the dots and shouted to make itself heard.

No… NO! It couldn’t be…

NO!

Danny revealed his face, and turned to Linda, kissing her passionately. Jo’s eyes widened with disbelief.

“DANNY?!” Jo’s eyes darted, her mouth moved, trying to form words but Jones would come out. For the first time ever, she was speechless as she watched Linda and Danny tenderly kiss.

Danny turned to Jo and said “Hello, *mistress*…” after a pause he continued “what’s the matter, nothing to say for yourself for once? I know what you’re thinking, you thought you’d pulled me away from Linda, you thought I would do *anything* for you, didn’t you? What you didn’t realise is that, what Linda and I have is real, we love each other. You thought the promise of sex would get me away but you’re wrong, Jo… OK, you may have seduced me in the past, you may think you’re irresistible, but you’re poison… You’ve always been willing to sink to such awful depths, but Linda is so kind and gentle, it’s no surprise someone who knows no kindness can’t understand why anyone would be willing to fight for love… I lied, you’re no mistress to me, I needed to get you to believe that to let your guard down. And now here you are… you deserve this, Jo… every bit of it”.

He turned back to Linda, held her hands and said “and once we’ve finished with you we can go back to being happy”. They pulled together for another joyous kiss. Then something unexpected happened. Jo began to cry. A single tear rolled from her right eye, which dropped down her cheek when she blinked, quickly followed by more. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she began to sob, head hung against her chest. The five looked at her, unmoved. The gravity of what she’d done – how she was only reaping what she’d sown – hit her at once and she broke into great sobs. The five couldn’t feel bad for her as much as they might try, there was more to do.

Danny stepped forward brandishing a pair of scissors. Jo, with tears still running down her face, saw Danny with the scissors and pleaded “No! Not my top… please… please… don’t do this… please…”. Her pleas turned to whimpers as Danny cut up the front of Jo’s corset top. She’d cut his clothes off that night she’d emasculated him in the changing room; so he had no issue with returning the favour. Pulling the two halves apart; Jo’s naked torso was on display, splattered with all manner of food – beans, custard, chocolate, mushy peas. Her breasts stood proud and her nipples erect, even if Jo hung her head in shame at being exposed, tears still rolling down her cheeks, panda-eyed with her black mascara running.

“Oh ho ho!” taunted Linda “63 viewers and the chat goes wild! So, we have ‘Lovely tits’ from slimeboy, ‘Is she wearing a watch?’ from gungelover, and one user newwaveband69 posting ‘Great stream of Jo, shadowy masked figures!’ every 60 seconds or so. Maybe a bot, I dunno”

Sharon picked up a bucket of rice pudding, and stepped up to the topless Jo. She raised the bucket up and poured this over Jo’s head. Jo didn’t protest, she just hung her head and continued to sob. The rice pudding wasn’t as cold as the custard had been before, but it wasn’t warm, and the texture wasn’t much better than the beans and peas, reflected Jo as she shrieked involuntarily again at the small lumps which stuck in her hair, flowed over her face and down to her unprotected torso, mixing with the beans in an uneven lumpy texture. Her nipples had hardened with the exposure to the air of the barn, which had the unfortunate effect of making them more sensitive to the orange, green and white sludge that oozed slowly over her upper body and dripped from her nipples into her lap. She shuddered with horror at the sensation, and sniffed, her tears slowing.

Linda returned to the chat “So, who’da thunk it, naked tits means viewers! We’re at 72 now! The viewers keep rising, which means so does the level of mess on Jo here… Filling the corset went so well, why don’t we move a little further *south*…?”

Picking up a jug of egg yolks, Ruth lifted Jo’s skirt, hitching it up around her waist to expose her underwear, before she pulled open the waistband of Jo’s panties. Jo’s eyes went wide and she found her voice to stammeringly beg for mercy “Oh n…n…no! Ohhh G…G…God no! P…Please…! No, I’ll do anything, ANYTHING! Don’t pour those in there, they’re all slimy and horrible… Please don’t do that, not in there! Not into my pantiieeeeeeEEEEEESSSS!” Ruth poured the eggs in nice and slow to torture Jo, her protests turning to a shriek as the slimy yellow yolks slipped into her underwear and nestled against her most intimate areas. Once the jug was empty Ruth tossed it aside and then, looking Jo in the eye and giving her a dirty smile; reached down and cupped the front of Jo’s panties, before firmly applying pressure into her crotch. Jo’s eyes almost rolled into the back of her head; she let out the odd unintelligible noise and gasp, and quivered uncontrollably as the slimy yellow yolks burst, teasing her most sensitive areas, spurting between her folds and the crack of her bum.

Linda continued with her role as commentator “So, we’re up to 85 viewers now, and one user named VainGnoll has chipped in ‘this is hot as fuck – can the rest of the clothes come off?’ Well, thank you VainGnoll, and yes – I think they can!”

The scissors cut through Jo’s skirt, she froze in place, staying as still as possible to make sure the scissors didn’t poke her. After the skirt had been removed, she was left wearing only a pair of black panties and several gallons of mixed foodstuffs.

“Please… please!” Jo begged “Not the panties, don’t take those off me… I’m begging you… just stop… I’ll do anything, you can do whatever you want to me… just don’t strip me naked”

Linda stepped up with the scissors, and motioned to Danny to mute the sound again

Linda came down face-to-face with Jo, and lifting her chin with one finger to force Jo to look her in the eye, hissed “Did you show *any* of us any mercy… any compassion? NO. You get what you deserve”, and with one motion, snipped the waistband either side and sharply pulled the panties off Jo to leave her totally exposed. Jo hung her head, the shame and humiliation was extreme, she was totally exposed in front of nearly a hundred people watching. With her legs zip-tied to the chair she couldn’t cover herself. She’d begged for mercy, but found none, and now she knew she deserved none; she’d just have to ride out whatever was to come.

Returning the sound to the stream, Linda took on a “sexier” voice again to present “Wow, we’re at 93 viewers, not far from that 100 we need for the jackpot” she looked at Jo, and then looked meaningfully up at the pipe. Jo also looked up at the pipe, and cowered visibly at the thought. This Jo was no longer the powerful bitch she had made herself up to be this past year; the wrath of these five had brought her low and exposed her publically as a mewling, humiliated, naked sobbing blob of mess.

Linda continued “So, as we’re nearly there, how about a pie barrage?”

The five of them picked up a pie in each hand, and surrounded Jo. Jo once again said “No… don’t… you don’t have to do this… ”

Their emotions spiking, wanting to punctuate all the wrongs Jo had visited upon them, they circled her like tigers moving in for the kill on a wounded prey. Jo’s eyes flicked left to right… left to right as she watched her captors stalk round her in a circle. Her pleas fell on deaf ears –

“*This* is for blackmailing Ruth…”

Two pies crashed into her face in a sandwich from Sharon – much as they had at the start of the stream.

“*This* is for my sister, you *bitch*!”

With a wider choice of targets, Wendy found Jo’s nubile breasts with two more pies, which were thoroughly rubbed into her chest.

“*This* is for making me feel like I was a deviant for liking women…”

Ruth followed with one more in the face, and another on top of her head, with quite some force, splattering cream and custard quite some distance behind Jo.

“*This* is for trying to take my boyfriend; and for what you were willing to do to me in that bedroom while I was tied up…”

Linda slapped one into Jo’s tummy for variation as much as anything. She motioned to Sharon and Ruth “Lift her up”. The two complied – bodily lifting Jo slightly away from the chair, as far as her bonds would allow – and Linda placed her other pie on the chair. Jo’s eyes turned wide in anticipation of what was to come, Linda motioned to Sharon and Ruth who released Jo to drop with some force into the pie on the chair. This elicited the loudest shriek which turned into a moan, part shock at contact with the cool cream and custard with her naked cheeks; part disgust at the feel of it squirting forcefully through her bum crack and out past her crotch between her thighs at the front; and partly… something else… at the feeling of the custard and cream gushing like this past her sensitive lady parts.

“And *this*… this… this…” started Danny, fighting to control his anger and other emotions. Gaining control, he finished “…this is for that night in the changing rooms, where you tied me up, stripped me, humiliated me”

Noting her reaction and the shame she exhibited at being unable to hide her reactions from the previous pie, Danny as deliverer of the final two attempted to elicit the same reaction again. The penultimate of the two pies was once again wiped over her breasts, paying attention to her erect nipples

“And most of all – *this* is for trying to poison the love that Linda and I have”

The final pie targeted her mostly clean crotch, pushed in with some force and rubbed to tease Jo. Jo was unable to do much other than quiver and moan as her most sensitive area was rapidly invaded by the thick custard and cream.

All five stared at Jo, breathing heavily, fighting to control the emotions that had nearly bubbled over during the pie barrage. They realised they were still on camera, so they stepped away from Jo and looked back over at the stream. The viewer count stood at 98. There were only 30 seconds left before the 20 minute mark would pass, and they’d exhausted the remainder of their supplies, so Linda filled time reading out some more messages, hoping they’d get to use their showpiece. The seconds ticked by, but the viewers stayed at 98. With 3 seconds to go the number ticked over to 99, but stayed there as the 20 minutes expired…

They’d fallen short of the jackpot.

Linda said goodbye to the viewers, somewhat disappointed and unable to hide it in her voice, but still, they’d promised to play by the rules, even if Jo never would. As Danny hit the button to stop the stream, everyone unmasked and took off their robes. It had been intense, but they felt they’d managed to exorcise their demons. Walking up to Jo, who could only hang her head, Linda crouched down in front of her. Jo could only suppress a sniffle as she couldn’t look Linda in the eye, staring at the floor.

“Jo… we’re going to untie you now”

Jo pathetically nodded silently in response.

“I… I… I…” Jo stammered “I’m…. sorry. For everything! You only made me feel like I’d made you feel, a wasted lump of crap. I’m… I’m… sorry” and Jo hung her head once more, breathing heavily, fighting the urge to burst into tears again.

Linda looked down at the floor, as did the other girls. This is what they’d wanted, they wanted to teach her a lesson, make her realise how she made others feel. If it meant they had to act like her and make her feel the same way, they’d agreed that’s what they’d do. Still, they couldn’t help but feel a little remorse for the extremes they’d had to go to, even if it had worked.

The girls cut Jo free. She stretched her arms and legs, flexing them to restore some of the circulation. The room was silent other than the breathing of the six, as five waited to see what Jo would do. She wouldn’t lash out – they were almost certain of that. Their humiliation of her had been too complete, they’d completely dominated her. Jo slowly reached up and scraped some of the accumulation of gunk from her eyes. The beautiful blonde Amazonian beauty that had walked into the barn ready for a wild night had experienced something beyond even she’d imagined. She was comprehensively trashed, mixed custard, beans, peas, lumps of rice pudding, chocolate, pies and more covered her every inch of naked skin, her blonde hair a sticky matted clump on top of her head, her mascara running down her cheeks. She was utterly destroyed.

How were any of them to know how she’d feel after the experience? Sure, she’d been humiliated and brought low; that was the plan. She felt remorse for her actions, that had been an unexpected bonus. But there was one other emotion none had counted on surfacing. The warmth she’d felt at some of the touches in her more intimate areas had been no accident. Despite herself, Jo was turned on. Her nipples stood proud and erect, her breathing was still heavy as she didn’t stand, she decided to make herself comfortable on the chair.

“Could you pass my handbag please?” Jo asked breathlessly. The five looked at each other, confused. This was by far the most polite they’d ever heard Jo be to any of them in a very long time.

Confused, Linda stepped over and complied with Jo’s request. Fishing in her handbag, Jo found what she was looking for.

Linda started to say “You won’t get mobile phone reception here…” but stopped. Jo had not removed her phone as she’d anticipated, but a small silver cylindrical object, rounded at one end.

Jo always packed this in case she got a bit bored, or indeed to enhance any other adventures she might have found herself in on a wild night out. Twisting one end, it began to buzz.

Ohhhhhhhh…..! Thought the others as one, looking at each other as if to ask is she really going to…?

Jo lounged back in the chair, spreading her legs wide, and moved the silver bullet into position. She moaned loudly at her own touch

Well, she thought I never realised being treated like that would be such a turn on – to be on the receiving end, to be so utterly dominated… I can’t be humiliated much further, and doing this in front of them feels so naughty, so dirty, so filthy, I’m so ashamed but I can’t help myself…

The five backed away. Linda cleared her throat and said

“Er… well, when you’re finished, our robes are there. Cover yourself up and we’ll arrange for Sharon’s uncle to pick you up at the layby and take you home”

They turned to go, and leave Jo to finish what she’d made clear she wanted to do. As they turned their backs to leave they heard from Jo

“Do it!”

Linda turned back, confused “What? Do… what?”

Between gasps, Jo flicked her head up to indicate the pipe overhead.

“Drop it on me”

The girls’ eyes widened in disbelief. They looked at each other – did Jo really want *that* stuff  dropped on her?

Linda took a step back towards Jo “You want us to… drop the slurry on you…?”

Jo fumed, were they going to make her admit it?

Her loins felt like they were on fire, she’d never felt so alive, she hated to admit it, but she’d come to enjoy being so degraded… she hated herself for it, but she so wanted that final humiliation of being covered in that disgusting muck while pleasuring herself.

“Yes…” Jo said, more urgently “drop it on me”

“Are you sure?” asked Linda

“DO IT!” hissed Jo through her teeth

Linda looked at the others, who shrugged. Linda stepped over to the lever on the wall of the barn that would release the tank, and looking at Jo, gave it a firm pull downwards.

Jo moaned, a mix of lust and disbelief at what was about to happen, and looked up at the pipe eyes wide. The gravy “slurry” fell onto Jo with some force, hitting her with a great wet slap and splattering in a radius a good six feet around her. She was immediately engulfed in a huge tide of the brown lumpy muck, first hitting her square in her upturned face. The force of it was so great it knocked her off her chair and she slid to the floor, more falling directly onto her as she sprawled in it. Fighting the force of the gravy slopping in waves over her; the silver bullet quested for its target once more. Once it found home, climax came quickly and intensely as the gallons of gravy spread across the floor, Jo a formless blob washed away from the chair amongst the slop writhing in paroxysms of humiliated ecstasy as the orgasm rocked her body. Her humiliation had been complete, utter. The five others watched in disbelief at Jo making such a spectacle of herself. She’d no longer hold any power over them, the stuff that had been broadcast on stream was indelible, the degradation she’d been through meant her power had been permanently broken. This final step, how far she’d been willing to sink to debase herself further in front of them meant they’d never need to fear her again – how could she ever be considered to have any dignity left once she’d brought herself off like that? Believing she’d been covered in slurry and wanting it to happen?

As she lay in the gravy, panting, for she realised in her afterglow that the substance was indeed only gravy, Linda approached her carefully, picking her way through the inches deep brown goo on the floor, and offered her her hand to help her up.

Jo looked at her critically, knowing she’d lost. She looked down at the floor and said “Just leave me… I’ll make my way back. You don’t need to worry about me any more… I’ll… I’ll go. Leave the town for good”

I may have found myself a new career path – Jo added to herself.

Linda looked at her for a moment, weighing up what to do. She then slowly nodded, and turned, walking back to Danny, who took her arm. Danny and Linda left the barn hand in hand, as did Ruth and Sharon. Wendy had called her boyfriend to come pick them up in his van, and he was waiting just outside. As the friends boarded, Wendy sat up at the front, giving her boyfriend a kiss, followed by Ruth and Sharon who sat in the third row of seats in the van. Danny got in, leaving Linda until last. She paused as she was about to board, looking back at the barn, knowing Jo was within. She felt peace, tranquillity, happiness at last. After everything she and Danny had been through, she deserved it, she knew that much.

“Are you getting in?” asked Danny. Linda broke from her momentary reflection to turn back to Danny, smiling at her and holding out his hand to help her onboard.

“Yes” she said definitely. Sitting next to Danny, and putting her head on his shoulder, he wrapped his arms round her shoulder and snuggled her tight.

The van started its journey back to the town, and as they reached the main road, Linda said to Danny “so, what shall we do tomorrow to celebrate?”

Danny gave her a loving smile and said “How about a trip to the supermarket, spend a bit more time in the dessert aisle?” with a flirty raise of the eyebrows.

“Hmmm…” said Linda, not actually really thinking about it. She looked back at Ruth and Sharon cuddled up on the back seat, and smiled to herself “I’ve got a better idea, how about the cash and carry…”

Danny chuckled, and the two lovers pulled close for a passionate kiss as the van sped off, to a new start for all of them.

Evening all,

Firstly, please allow me to apologise for the delay in confirming results from matches 33-64. Work and social life have got in the way and will likely continue to do so for the foreseeable future. Therefore results may be late in appearing, so please be patient with me.

Matches 65-96 went live at 8pm last Friday, and will close at 8pm this Friday, so make sure you get your votes in. As a general rule, the next set of matches will go live 24 hours after the previous matches have ended. Again I may not have time to announce this on the day, so please continue to monitor the website on a regular basis.

Anywho, time to get down to business and reveal the results from matches 33-64:

So there you have it. 64 of our 256 second round competitors are now known. Only 192 more to find!