Although this story mentions real persons, corporations, TV shows and places, it is purely a work of fiction for personal enjoyment. The story does NOT describe real events and should NOT be taken to accurately portray any real entity mentioned. In keeping with its fictional nature, the events and activities described in the story may not be legal, ethical or safe. This site does NOT endorse or recommend their enactment.
The following story contains nudity and scenes of a sexual nature.
So this is my first attempt at writing a WAM story, after much cajoling from a few people in the community. One of you might even remember talking about this idea in the past!
All the same, I don’t consider myself a writer, so there’s probably lots of ways for me to improve. To any other authors here that read, I’d greatly appreciate your feedback for any future efforts!
“Alright, you can open your eyes now…”
Simple words, but laced with excitement and anticipation. What was I going to find when I opened my eyes? Why was it something that had been kept hidden from me so far?
It was dark. Not pitch-black by any means, but dimly light and it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the low lighting here, wherever “here” was. Blinking away the darkness, the first thing to take shape in front of my eyes was the familiar form of my girlfriend of five years (Well, five years and eleven days to be precise, but I’ll get to that shortly), Isabelle. She was a gorgeous woman of 30 years, with lightly tanned, flawless skin, that even now seemed to shine despite the darkness and hazel hair that fell in perfect ripples past her shoulders to frame her face, and what a face it was! She had brown eyes, the kind you could get lost in, somehow both incredibly sharp and alert, but also warm and affectionate all at the same time, with a cute button nose and plump lips. She wore minimal make-up – she didn’t need anything more than that – sporting a little bit of eyeliner, some blush and a shade of magenta lipstick that not only stood out enough to catch anyone’s eye, but also conveyed Isabelle’s sense of mischief. It wasn’t the ordinary pale pink or ruby red you saw, it was a bit different, it was a bit bold, a bit fun… a bit naughty. It goes without saying that such a goddess of a woman would have an equally divine body, a slim, toned stomach, with perfectly pert breasts, and wide hips, leading onto lusciously toned legs. She may only have been 5’3” tall, but my Izzy was every inch of flawless beauty. She was wearing the same clothing she’d had on in the restaurant, a pair of black high heels, some jewellery and a little black dress with lace sections across the chest and stomach, giving glimpses of cleavage and bare skin beneath. The dress stopped short of running halfway down her thighs, but I didn’t mind that and I doubt anyone else that saw her tonight was disappointed either.
She was grinning mischievously, like the perennial naughty schoolgirl that had never quite grown up. It was a look that suggested she’d done something she found amusing, something exciting and something that would almost certainly get her in trouble, all at once. It was a look that said she was getting exactly what she wanted, no matter what anyone else said or thought. I was used to that look – I saw it a lot – so I knew immediately that it meant this was something she hadn’t just organised, but something she’d been looking forwards to a lot and, instantly, I felt vulnerable and just a little nervous. It was a giddy kind of nervousness, I was excited by it, but it was very clear right now that Isabelle was in charge here, not me. As she stood before me, framed by light from an unknown source behind her, she held the satin black blindfold I had been wearing moments earlier in one hand, and my silver high-heeled sandals in the other.
We’d been having dinner in Il Piatto Vuoto, one of the most fashionable, most exclusive Italian restaurants in the city, so we’d both dressed for the occasion. Isabelle in her black dress, and me in my favourite outfit, an emerald green sleeveless number that clung to my slender frame like it was soaking wet, highlighting every curve, accentuating my slim figure and showing off plenty of skin with its deep, plunging neckline. It drew the eye towards my cleavage, though my cleavage did that enough on its own, but why not help guide the eye from time to time? Not to sound arrogant or anything, but I knew full well that Isabelle and I had turned more than a few heads, both male and female, all throughout the night. Once dinner was over, she had revealed that she had a surprise lined up for me, and then led me outside to our waiting taxi. This was when she gave me the blindfold and then handed our driver a piece of paper with an address, so as not reveal anything to me. I was game for a bit of mystery, so I’d pulled on the blindfold without fuss and after what seemed like almost an hour in the taxi, we had arrived at the venue. Isabelle had held my hand throughout the journey, but barely spoke, leaving me to listen to the gentle hum of the engine, punctuated by the occasional car horn, siren, or screech of brakes. It left my mind racing as to what was going on, especially since I knew our flat was only fifteen minutes or so from the restaurant, so she obviously wasn’t taking things home just yet.
On arrival at the secret location, Izzy had unlocked some doors, leading me through them and along a corridor where our heels clicked beneath our feet, providing an impatient metronome to match my mood. We’d then moved onto a wooden floor, I could tell by the quieter thud of my heel on it, compared to the sharp clacking, and it was then that Izzy told me to stand still. She had then undone the straps on my sandals, before dragging her black-painted fingernail over the top of my foot and then instructed me to step out of my shoes, onto the floor. It was cool, but not cold, with the soft feel of older wood to it, and as Isabelle then led me on, I felt the wood give way to thick shaggy carpet, before returning to wood. I would guess it was a rug, but what sort of place were we in to have such a luxurious rug? No nightclub would have such a thing, and if this had been a hotel, then where was the familiar hustle and bustle of other guests? Instead, I was treated to the sound of silence, broken only by the noise of our footsteps, and in the air, there was a faintly warm smell, like that accompanying bright lights, or the first time you turn on a heater in winter. I was clueless to where we going, but I was then led up a flight of wooden stairs that quietly creaked beneath us, all before Izzy made me shuffle past her to stand facing her. She took the blindfold, and then told me to open them… and here I was, still no wiser to where I was, or what was happening.
In the near-darkness, I could see Isabelle, and as my vision blurred into focus further, I could see the top of a staircase, curving back down below, to where the lights were coming from. Up here, I wasn’t able to see much other than that familiar smile.
“Still unsure?” she asked, with a slightly sing-song tone to her voice, the same one she always used when she was teasing or mocking me. “Perhaps you should turn around, maybe then you’ll catch on?”
Slowly, and with my heart thumping inside of my chest, I turned around. I was still blinking, trying to get my eyes to adjust to the low lighting, when I saw a sort of circular platform that I could only liken to a strange lift shaft at first. I’ll admit to have done more than my fair share in drinking two bottles of champagne during dinner, so my mind and my reactions were as fuzzy as my own eyesight, but as it came into focus, Izzy hit a switch behind me that light everything up.
It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the brighter lighting, but once they did, I knew exactly where I was stood. I’d been here once before, almost five years ago, on one of my first dates with Izzy. I was stood on a wooden balcony, atop a staircase, in a grand old house… inside of a television studio.
To be specific, the “grand old house” was better known as Crinkly Bottom to the public, and it was home to Nigella’s House Party(some… strange interactions on social media had meant Noel was never going to host another BBC show, so the busty foodie had taken his place with aplomb), which had been a regular part of Saturday night television on the BBC for the past few years. Isabelle had been working on the show as a junior when we first met, and had brought me and a few friends here a couple of years ago for a backstage tour, before letting us watch a live recording. Since then, Izzy had risen through the ranks to become the show’s assistant producer. At almost midnight, I knew we were alone here, there was no audience today, no Nigella Lawson and no doubt in my mind as to why we were here. When I’d been here before, Izzy had led me up these stairs, to the cart that was used for the gungy “tour” of the house, and told me to get in, threatening to send me round and give me a royal mucking. It had given me a giddy kind of fear three years ago, but she had been bluffing and despite putting me on edge for the whole of the recording, no gunge came my way and instead they sent some middle-aged bloke from the far end of the audience on a tour instead.
“You’re must be joking,” I muttered, not words I meant, but just words that escaped my lips as my brain ran on autopilot and I stared dumbfounded at the cart that carried victims on their tour of Crinkly Bottom. Izzy had teased me about sending me on a gungy ride a few times before, but for the first time ever, it dawned on me that she was serious now.
“Oh, babe, this is no joke,” she said, causing me to look back at her, spotting that wicked grin stretching from ear to ear, full of delightful mischief. “After all, Tori, you did forget our anniversary, and you did tell me you’d do what it took to make it up to me.” Somehow, her smile grew wider and cockier as she pointed at me, my heels still in her hand as she stretched out a finger and singled me out, “Yes, you did well getting us a table at that Italian, and I do love the necklace you bought for me, but… well, you did say you’d do anything, and I’m going to take you up on that offer! Besides, it’s just some good, clean, fun, wouldn’t you say?”
I laughed, “I’m not sure about clean.”
“Perhaps not,” she replied, stepping closer to me, “But if you want to be forgiven for forgetting our anniversary, after five years, something that really shouldn’t happen… well, I think you know what to do!” and, as if such a statement needed punctuating, she pressed her pointing finger to my chest and gave me a playful nudge with it, forcing me to step backwards as my bare heel found itself on the cooler grated surface of the cart’s floor.
I took another step back to steady myself, wholly aware that I was now stood in the car, as I curled my toes between the metal slats, feeling my heart race as Izzy looked on with an almighty grin. “Well, fine,” I muttered, almost unable to believe I was even saying it out loud, “How about a kiss for luck, before I start my journey then?”
“How about no?” she replied, before giving a devilish cackle. Immediately, her hand reached out to grab the lever on the wall, releasing a shower of sparks as the ground beneath my feet shook and lurched into life.
With a gasp, I found myself unsteady and quickly sat down, pointing up at Isabelle as she rapidly disappeared from view. “You bitch!” I called out to her, my own tone matching hers for teasing now, “You’ll regret that!”
I could just about hear her reply – “Watch your language, I’ll make sure you wash your mouth out for that” – before she vanished completely and I found myself descending into darkness…
—
I suppose I should probably tell you a little bit about myself now, and just how I wound up in this slightly ridiculous situation.
My name is Victoria Masters, I’m 32 years old and I’m one half of the breakfast show on a regional radio station. I’m about 5’8”, and slim, with pale skin and long, straight ginger hair, though I’m blessed not to have the onslaught of freckles that so often accompanies such a complexion. I work hard to keep my figure slim, as my job and lifestyle don’t really lend themselves to it, it’s far too easy to sit at the desk and snack during the songs, and you spend so much time sitting down, too. First world problems, sure, but it does mean I have to drag myself to the gym to keep the pounds off, though at least I can go in the afternoons when it’s quieter. I keep up a strict regimen of cardio, weights and yoga, and I never neglect leg day, despite the temptation. It works too, keeping me toned, fit and supple, and with Izzy around, those traits are more necessary than you’d think. One thing I didn’t have to work for was my breasts, which are easily my second-most eye-catching feature (after my bright red mane) and came free, courtesy of genetics. I know my strong points and how to show them off, which is funny, considering that most of the time people don’t see me and just have to make do with listening to my voice instead.
I live in a top-floor penthouse flat with my girlfriend, Isabelle, and our tortoiseshell tabby, Flynn. We’ve been dating for just over five years and living together for almost three, and quite honestly, things couldn’t be going better for us. We’ve got a nice flat, enough money to live comfortably and a very close relationship, we both love our jobs and it’s all going swimmingly. Sure, working breakfast radio means I’m up and out early, while Izzy works days and evenings for the BBC, but we still get plenty of time together, and while I might be the one that gets spotted in the street sometimes, she’s definitely the one bringing home the bacon. She works hard for it too, putting in far longer hours than I do, so when we are together, we try to have as much fun as we can, and Izzy certainly knows how to have fun! She’s full of energy and ideas, both good and bad, but mostly they’re just… well,they’re naughty. Fair to say, I’ve never known anyone, male or female, with a libido to match Izzy and no matter what we get up to, she still seems to have fuel in her tank and it can be exhausting sometimes! She teases me that I’m getting old (among other things – she loves to tease), but she’s clearly the one with the problem, not me!
As for how we got here, well, things have been manic for both of us, really. Some of our best friends got married in the Maldives a month ago and it seems like it’s been constant ever since. Poor Flynn’s starting to slow down with age, which isn’t unreasonable, given that I’ve had him since I was 16, so I’ve been taking him to the vet recently, just to check there’s nothing deeper, and once Tom and Pamela were back from their honeymoon, we had to get together for drinks and photographs, and then there was Bryan’s birthday, and Angela had a barbecue, just because it was a summer, and then there was all the World Cup hype too… my head’s been all over the place.
I know, I know, it’s no excuse. That’s probably why I didn’t put up much of a fight, and if I had been dead set against it, I could certainly have made it out of here clean. It’s not even down to being taller and fitter than Izzy, it’s simply that if I’d made any sort of refusal, she would have backed down. She might like being a bit bratty here and there, but she’s not in the habit of forcing things on people, no matter who that person is or what they forgot. That said, I could see the glint in her eye that said she wanted to do this, there was even a look that said she was proud of herself, having set up something like this – I don’t doubt that it took a bit of work to rig up the cart, especially if she has done it alone, and she got us here without spoiling it all before the grand reveal. No, I guess, part of me feels that maybe I did deserve it and part of me thinks maybe Izzy just deserves to see her efforts rewarded. Besides, turnabout’s fair play, isn’t it? I’ll get her back for this some day.
Maybe. We’ll see.
—
My decent into darkness came to a stop with a hefty clunk that caused the entire cart to lurch somewhat, swinging backwards and then forwards. Down here was very dark, darker than it had looked when I’d watched episodes of it on TV with Izzy, as if maybe she hadn’t turned all of the lights on for our little exploit. Maybe that was so as not to draw too much attention to the studio, considering it was meant to be shut at this time of night, or maybe it was because they were no cameras recording it that needed the light, or maybe it was just to keep me on my toes about what was going on. It’s harder to avoid what you can’t see coming, right?
The cart then lurched again, forwards this time, as the chain started to haul it along the track, pulling me into the looming darkness up ahead. I tried to get comfortable in the cart, as best as I could anyway – the seat was large enough that I didn’t have to worry about slipping and it had a leather cushion affixed to the top, presumably for both added comfort, and because it could be wiped clean. I suspected it would take more than just a wipe to clean me up once done here, although I had no idea what was in store. The cart seemed to move slowly, far more slowly than it looked to move on television, or was that just because my own nervous anticipation made each passing second feel like an hour?
Fortunately, I was brought out of the pitch-black before those seconds really did turn into hours. The cart was dragged through a series of damp felt-like tendrils that hung from above, like a beaded curtain, but far wetter and far worse. The various lengths slapped against my bare arms and thighs first, then against my face as I was dragged through and, whilst it was only water that they were soaked with, it did enough. I could feel the cool damp on my skin, even once the tendrils had moved past me and I could feel the water soaking into my limited clothing, but I also knew it had dishevelled my hair and caused some of my make up to either smear or run. The weather forecast had been for a warm, dry evening, so I hadn’t bothered with waterproof make-up… at least it wouldn’t be seen by too many people, and hopefully I would be able to get a shower when this is all over anyway!
The last of the sodden felt arms groped at my head and shoulders as I moved out of them to find myself in a somewhat better-lit area, where I could at least see my own hands in front of my face. A quick check had confirmed that it was only water that the tendrils had been soaked in, but it was enough to leave my dress looking a shade darker where it had been dampened too. I’d often thought that the dress clung to me and moved like water, it was almost a second skin, and here it was, wet and getting wetter… and clinging even more tightly to my body all the while. Every movement I made tugged the dress this way and that and I had to resign myself to the likelihood that the water alone might ruin the dress (instructions clearly stated dry-clean only) before the gunge even had chance. By this point I was well and truly committed, so I smoothed out my dress as best as I could, adjusted my cleavage and slicked my hair back, just in time to feel something wet and decidedly heavy slosh down over my bare legs!
I had been sat with my right leg crossed over my left, quite normal for any woman in a dress, and given that this dress was a bit short, it left a lot of leg exposed. The gunge, which was a thick and slightly translucent shade of green, had impacted just above my knee, on my thigh, before splattering off all around, slopping down my toned, pale calf, towards my feet, but also further up my thigh and onto my dress. It seemed like a bucket-load, though I had no real reference point for the volume, and it felt slightly cooler than room temperature as it clung to my leg. I felt slightly proud of myself for not squealing at the sudden shock of it, something probably helped by the neutral temperature of the gunge, and perhaps also that it was over my legs and not my head to start with. Izzy knew I could be jumpy, she’d taken me to enough horror movies to know that and I didn’t doubt she expected me to put on something of a show for her. I smiled momentarily, sure she would get her wish in the end, but I wasn’t going to just give in and make it easy for her – where was the challenge in this?
The cart had continued to trundle along the track, slowly turning a bit to the right, then back and to the left, back to central. I knew it could turn a full circle, I remembered seeing it on television, but as it swung towards the left, more gunge flew in my direction. This lot was the same shade of slightly see-through green, but it was either thrown with more force, or from higher up, because it landed right on my lap, soaking through my dress to cling to my stomach, the tops of my thighs and, of much greater concern right now, my own underwear. I knew full well that my underwear wouldn’t hold up to much of a barrage, though my dress would take the direct contact, leaving just the cool wet sensation to soak through and, as I felt it soak through my knickers to the skin below, I found myself feeling a lot more vulnerable. I was no more exposed than I had been, and the gunge wasn’t getting through my dress or into my underwear, but the wet sensation was and, coupled with everything else, it was enough. I still hadn’t started screaming, and beyond some gunge soaking into the midriff of my dress, my upper body was still clean, though I suspected Izzy was working her way up me, so it would be just a matter of time before she rectified that with a bucket of goop. That said, feeling it soak into my underwear did elicit a bit of a grimace and a quiet murmur of discomfort as I shuffled about on my seat.
Both gunge barrages had come from the same side and the second one had been accompanied by a quiet grunt, no doubt from someone hefting a full bucket of gunge my way. My suspicions were that it was Izzy hurling the buckets herself, and that during a normal show, there would have been people on both sides, so she was left doing her best. As I sat there, the gunge dripping from my dress and thighs into the bottom of the cart below me, a little spark went off in my mind and my grimace shifted instantly to a devilish little grin. “Is that your best shot?” I called out into the semi-darkness, sure that Izzy could hear me even if I couldn’t see he. “You haven’t even touched my face,” I added, confident that for as much as she might appreciate slopping my legs with gunge, she was definitely more interested in going for my upper body.
Gripping the underside of the chair with both hands and thinking back to the times I’d seen this happen to someone else before, I knew that the corridor would have a third gunging before the cart moved into another section of track. Digging my fingers in, I kept my legs crossed and then leant back, holding my head and hair out over the back of the cart. Yes, it left my chest and cleavage woefully exposed, but if I was right, this would keep my face out of the gunge, so long as Izzy didn’t notice that I’d moved too much. I bit my bottom lip and shut my eyes, I was actually excited to find out what would happen, if I’d actually managed to out-smart her plan.
I didn’t have to wait long to feel something cool, wet and thick splatter across my chest! It did splash up, a bit onto my neck and the underside of my chin, but thanks to the back of the cart acting as a pivot, I had been able to flex back enough to keep my face out of the impact. For a brief second, I thought I could hear grumbling from off to the side and hoped it was true. This gunge had been more yellow, still a bit translucent, and still cool, so as I let go of the seat and sat back down more normally, I couldn’t help shivering, before bringing both hands up to scrape the gunge from my chest, flinging handfuls down into the cart beneath me. Some had made its way into my cleavage and was squelching against my breasts as it slid further into my dress or my bra, and the sensation was cold and just a bit gross. In retrospect, it struck me that if Izzy had gone a little lower and the gunge had landed in my cleavage, things might have suddenly become very unpleasant indeed, because the feeling of thick, cool, claggy sludge oozing over my breasts and around my sensitive nipples is something vile and unforgettable. I hoped very much that my knickers would do a better job of protecting my nethers than my bra had done for my breasts, indeed, the cups just seemed to channel the gunge towards my nipples and both felt as if they were being treated to a sloppy gunge bath. I tried to fish some out of my cleavage as best as I could, but as the cart lurched to the right around a banked corner, I found myself with other priorities. I slid forwards, the chair slicked enough to make that all too easy and uncrossed my legs, using my feet to steady myself before adjusting my position and seating back down. I stretched out my arms beside me, letting them rest along the top of the cart as I brought my legs up and propped them up opposite, my heels resting on the leather seat pad as I wriggled my toes with a grin.
The corner completed, the cart slowed right down to a stop and instantly, my vision was obscured by a wall of thick yellow gunge that poured from above with some force. This wasn’t Izzy throwing buckets any more, it was the first actual hopper of gunge, designed to turn its target into a complete and utter mess, soaked to the skin in gunge, giving them nowhere to hide. The gunge sloshed down into the cart, splattering all around, and even though it wasn’t especially cold, I couldn’t help screaming and squealing at the top of my lungs. I curled my toes in disgust as the messy custard-yellow onslaught continued and, over my own gasps and whimpers, and the sound of the gooey deluge, I could hear the tip-tap of high heels on a solid floor.
“Let’s get a loo-” shouted Izzy as she emerged from behind the far wall to look me in the eye. She gasped and her jaw visibly dropped in shock, before her eyes narrowed into a glare. “You rotter!” she shouted, wrinkling up her nose in annoyance, “Oh, you’re going to pay for this!”
I laughed and wriggled my toes at her like a wave as the last of the yellow gunge dribbled down over them. My feet were covered, my lower legs were pretty messy and the leather seat was soaked… and I’d had the best view of all, perched up on top of the opposite side of the cart, gripping the frame with both hands and my soles pressed against the seat to hold myself in position, all just to screw with Izzy. And it had worked. She’d been so keen to get a look at me that she hadn’t had chance to check where I was so all that gunge had gone all over my feet and ankles, and my face and hair had been left relatively unscathed. Sure, there was some back-splatter, but it was mostly further up my legs or on the bottom of my dress, it certainly wasn’t where Izzy wanted it to be and, allowing myself a very smug grin, I stuck my tongue out at her as she flipped me the bird and vanished back into the darkness.
I knew my journey wasn’t done, and I knew my little stunt would ensure that Izzy gave me the worst she could offer, but hey, relationships are all about winning and for those brief seconds, I won the jackpot at a time when Izzy thought she couldn’t lose.
All the same, though, I’ve always been a good sport about her teasing, and I could tell she’d gone to a lot of work to set this up, so I wasn’t about to ruin it. Standing up, which was no mean feat given how messy my feet and the bottom of the cart were, I wiped the leather seat with my hand, scraping off a lot of the custard-coloured goop, before sitting back down on it. It squelched under my bum, and I could feel the damp soaking through my dress and knickers again, but somehow, I didn’t feel as vulnerable any more. Perhaps I’d taken some tiny measure of control here that had calmed such nerves, I thought, before the cart lurched back into life and I was left to wonder just what else Izzy had for me, and just how much worse things would be made for me now.
The cart carried on in its eventful journey and I could see a corner shortly ahead. There wasn’t long now, I was pretty certain that this corner would lead around to the fireplace and the inevitable grand finale to this gungy journey. The floor of the cart was already slicked with gunge and with my feet covered already, all I could do was sit here, splashing them around and waiting for the inevitable. The cart slowed further and I soon found myself at a snail’s pace as I neared the corner, and I didn’t doubt that this was Izzy’s doing and part of her revenge for me avoiding the yellow stuff. As the cart trundled on, I heard a click, and within seconds, jets up ahead began pouring out thick, creamy foam. It wasn’t like bath bubbles or the kind you got at a rave, this stuff was heavier and more solid, it clung to anything it touched, instead of just sliding off and the closest thing I could compare it to would be something like shaving foam, but even that isn’t quite as thick.
This was why the cart had slowed down. Izzy wanted me covered, because as I approached, the angle of the jets was coating my chest and cleavage firstly, working up slowly towards my neck, jaw and face, slathering me in the white goop. I brought my hands up to clear my eyes and blew it from my mouth, but it carried on and it just seemed to pile up, even on itself, until it got too heavy and splattered down into my lap. Even then, there was plenty more coming and despite my efforts to wipe it away, I still wound up covered! It felt like an eternity, with the cart moving so slowly and the foam pouring out so continuously, but eventually the tanks ran dry and I was free from the gooey white onslaught. It was then that the cart sped up, and having become used to the slow pace, it caught me out when I was reminded of just how quickly it could go. I sailed down the last section, around the band and out, past the fireplace to stop just in front of it as I heard a slap of bare skin on solid floor and saw Izzy come running across with her shoes in her hand.
“No time to waste on heels,” she said, smiling as she looked me over, probably getting a good look at me for the first time, now that I was out in the open. It was much better-lit here, so she could easily assess things and, that was certainly what she did. She moved around the cart, peering down at my thighs and legs, which were still the gungiest part of me, as well as checking out my hair and even leaning in to check that it had gone down my cleavage. I wasn’t powerless to stop her by any means, I just couldn’t help but go along with it, letting her have her fun and simply offering up an anxious smile as she looked me over.
“Is it to your liking, mistress?” I asked, with emphasis on the mock title.
She tapped her chin thoughtfully, “I have to say, despite your complete and utter lack of sportsmanship with the yellow gunge, I think I’ve still done a good job. The foam’s everywhere, and there was enough gunge earlier on… yes, I could probably call this satisfactory revenge.”
“Really?” I asked, blinking, looking up to her in earnest. “You’d spare me the final gunging and take it yourself?”
“Don’t push your luck,” she scolded, with an amused smile that said she might even have considered it. “No, all you need to do now is get down on your knees and beg me to forgive you for forgetting our anniversary, and I’ll let you go.” Folding her arms, Izzy smirked down at me, “Oh, and don’t think you can take forever, you’ve got, like, five seconds at most before I withdraw this one time offer!”
I wasn’t going to hang around. Immediately, I flung myself on my knees in the foamy, gungy mess at the bottom of the cart and then clasped my hands together as I looked up at Izzy. Sure, she’d gloat about this, but I wasn’t above begging, and if it gave her a happy ending and spared me the worst stuff, then I was all for it. “Izzy… Isabelle… I’m so, so, sorry for forgetting our anniversary. There’s no excuse or justification I can offer to make it right, either, because something as important as the day we started dating should never slip my mind. Every day we’ve spent together has been wonderful and I consider myself the luckiest woman alive to have met you, and I know you’ve already given me another chance to make that up to you, but if you can forgive me now, then I can promise that it will never happen again.” I looked down at myself and laughed, “This ruined emerald dress will be a reminder that I don’t want it to happen again,” I added, before looking back up to her. “Please, Izzy, I’m sorry. Look deep inside of your heart and you’ll know it, and that I’ve done all of this to make it up to you, from the dinner, all the way through to stepping into that cart. I’m sorry, please forgive me.”
Izzy smirked in response. I could tell she was enjoying this, but I hardly minded, in a way, it had all been so ludicrously over the top that I had no choice but to enjoy it. She stepped towards the cart and pointed at me, “Get up,” she said, motioning towards the chair. I thought my efforts might not have been good enough, to be honest, I suspected that nothing I could have said would have been good enough to sway her, but it had certainly been worth a try! All the same, I was going to take this with as much dignity as I could muster, so I stood up, taking a moment to wipe my face clear again, before proceeding to do the same with my dress. Smoothing out the clinging fabric as best as I could, I then sat down and crossed one leg over the other, before shutting my eyes and waiting for the gunge…
With my eyes shut, I felt the cart shift and braced myself. I took a sharp breath and puffed out my cheeks, holding my lips pursed as I tensed up in anticipation of the gunge. I don’t know why I did that, it’s not as if I was about to be submerged and would need to hold my breath, but the reaction was instinctive. I sat there for what seemed like an eternity, feeling the cart trundle backwards, into position under that hopper of gunge hidden within the fireplace and then, when it clicked into place, I knew it was time. I tensed up further, toes curled, eyes screwed tightly shut and arms pinned to my sides, joints white from pressure as I gripped tightly at the cart’s seat.
And then I felt something warm and slightly moist against my lips. Opening my eyes, I found myself staring into Izzy’s eyes as she stood in the cart, only slightly stooping to reach my lips. She pulled back slightly and smiled at me as I smiled back at her, dumbstruck by the turn of events. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?” I asked, hopefully, moving my feet slightly to tap my slimy toes on top of hers as I reached out with both hands to hold Izzy’s, feeling the foam and gunge squelch between our fingers, looking at our painted nails through the lurid gunk coating them.
“Maybe,” she replied with a smirk that told me she really was still weighing up her options. Before she could say anything more, I decided to do my utmost to change her mind and pulled her in close. She gave a little squeal as I held her against my foamy, gunge-soaked dress, before letting go of her hands and moving to grab her bum, digging in my fingers for a good squeeze as I forced a lip-lock on her. She slid into it, placing her knees either side of my legs on the seat and ran her own hands through my soaked hair, kissing me back with as much passion as I’ve ever known. If letting her indulge her bratty domme streak led to these kinds of results, I might have to do it a bit more often, I thought, before letting go of her bum and sliding my hands up her back and into her hair. I wasn’t going to let Izzy get away without a bit of mess, and this appeared to be something she accepted, offering no resistance of her own, moving her hands to hold the back of my neck, cradling me towards her as her tongue entered my mouth.
Sat there, like that, all the cold, wet sensations seemed to vanish. There was just Izzy and I, two people, alone in the world, my hands running all over her as her tongue and mine brushed against each other, releasing sparks as if it was the first time we’d ever kissed like this. She tugged me in closer, arching me towards her as her chest pressed against mine, and I could feel the warmth of her body against my own, even through the foam and gunge. Her hands slid further down, over my shoulders and stopped at the back of my dress. She broke the kiss for a second and locked eyes with me.
“How about we get you out of that ruined dress?” she whispered, her voice breathy and filled with excitement.
She didn’t wait for an answer. She didn’t need one, my smile gave it away, and so she hooked the zip and pulled straight down, to the base of my spine the zipper itself running the opposite direction to my own excitement, shooting up my spine as I looked her in the eyes. “You’re bad,” I murmured as she moved her hands up to slip my dress down, revealing my bare breasts to the cool air, as I stood up as best as I could, letting her tug my dress down, past my hips so that it slid down my bare legs to the floor of the cart. The sodden weight of it probably helped and so I sat back down wearing just a lacy pair of red knickers. Izzy had her eyes firmly fixated on my breasts and I sat back on the seat,stretching my arms out across the back of it with a grin. “Like the view?” I asked, smirking, even though I knew the answer.
Izzy reached up behind her neck and grinned. “Close your eyes,” she said, before flashing me a wink.
I shut my eyes, with a wide grin plastered over my face, feeling her knees brush against my thighs as she stood back up, her toes brushed my feet in the mire at the bottom of the cart.
And then, in just a second or two, it all changed. I was sat there, waiting for Izzy to strip off and tell me to open her eyes… you know that phrase about how if it’s too good to be true, it probably is? Yeah, I should have thought of that. Instead, I felt the cart’s weight shift and then heard a squelch, followed by another, then a series of squelchy slaps before my brain finally caught up. My jaw dropped as my eyes opened wide to see Izzy rushing to grab the lever.
“No!” I shouted, unable to stop it, “Don’t you dare!”
“I dare,” she said coolly, grinning wickedly as she spun on her slimy heels to look back at me before grabbing the lever.
With no audible click or gurgling or warning, or even a second to gather my thoughts, the gunge burst forth from above my head. I’d thought it was a single pipe, but there were at least half a dozen, and they all burst into life at once. The central one, that I’d spied earlier, was the largest and was pumping out a stream of lime green gunge, while the others, situated in the ceiling around it sprayed out streams of bright purple and royal blue that sprayed down at equal distances, forming a ring around the centre. I hadn’t had chance to prepare for this, and was still sat back on the seat, so that the main stream of green gunge was now pouring right down onto my thighs… between my legs… where it was thoroughly soaking my knickers and giving me a very intimate introduction to gunge! Leaning forwards simply pushed my bare breasts under the flow for a second and then my head, coating my long red hair in the mish-mash of gungy colours as I felt it oozing over my neck and down my bare back. It coursed down my front too, between my breasts for the main part, so that it sluiced back down between my thighs to continue soaking through my knickers. With my eyes half-shut (another instinctive response), I just about spied Izzy watching gleefully, so giddy she was bouncing up and down on her toes, clapping her hands like a frenzied seal to see my near-naked gunging.
I stuck my tongue out at her briefly, catching a taste of the slightly custardy goop on my lips, before shutting my mouth and eyes, tipping my head back and just letting the gunge wash over me as I sat there, powerless to do anything now and resigned to my fate. I might as well face it with dignity, right? Lifting my feet out of the gathering muck in the bottom of the cart, I stretched my legs out in front of me, pressing them to the front of the cart as the gunge continued, with no end in sight. The cart began to rotate slowly, to ensure as much coverage as possible, though it needn’t have bothered, given the state I was in. Tipping my head forwards to look down, I could see that there was green everywhere and patches or stripes of blue and purple too with my legs looking some kind of modern art abomination and the red of my knickers now impossible to spot between the gathered gunk on my thighs. To say it was cold and wet was an understatement, and the sheer volume of it was scarcely believable, but the main feeling I had was one from inside of myself, the raw, temperature-raising emotion of humiliation and embarrassment, not so much from the gunging, but from letting Izzy lead me on like that. I should have seen it coming and put up a fight to save my dress, but I’d gotten too carried away and let her win, and that was definitely true now. I could never argue anything else – this wasn’t an event that we’d ever discuss with friends, but it was certainly something I knew she’d bring up again in private and I wouldn’t be able to look her in the eye. She’d got me, hook, line and sinker.
The cart continued to turn, sending the gunge splashing over unoccupied parts of the cart and then over my outstretched legs as I circled the main downpour of green gunk, before finding myself approaching it once more. I took a quick breath and tipped my head back once more to let the gunge slop down over my face. It was heavy, and there was enough force behind it to make me want to pull out of the way, especially as the jet pushed against my lips, trying to force them open to give me a mouthful, but I was determined to take this as well as I could for Izzy. After all, she’d won, so what else did I have to lose now? The rotation brought my head out from under the gunge shower and I quickly wiped my lips and eyes, blinking and then turning my head to look over towards that troublesome brunette. She was still far too giddy, rocking back and forth on her heels and as our eyes met, her grin was so huge it threatened to engulf her entire face in a toothy expression of sheer delight.
“It’s a shame you’re not naked,” she called out, before biting her tongue between her teeth.
I shuddered involuntarily at the thought of letting the gunge into the one clothed part of my body. Yes it was wet and cold, but so far it had been protected up to a point. “You’re really getting off on this, aren’t you?” I replied, the cart turning to covered my lower legs and feet in gunge once more.
For just a moment, Izzy looked uncomfortable. The smile vanished instantaneously, her cheeks turned a blazing shade of crimson and she shut her eyes.
“Don’t close your eyes,” I said, smirking. “You won’t want to miss the show, you filthy little deviant…”
Her eyes opened and that grin came straight back. “You’ve got some nerve to call someone else filthy in your state!”
“Whatever,” I said, standing up in the cart. It was no mean feat, either, the weight of all that was heavy enough, plus it had sort of stuck me to the seat in parts, and there was an audible “ripping” sound as I pulled myself up from the leather. “But you owe me a kiss for this!”
“Gladly,” she replied, before edging nearer and biting her tongue between her teeth again. She began idly curling her hair around her finger, her cheeks still very red as she looked over to me expectantly.
Stood up, I reached down, my gunge-covered fingers grabbing at the gunge-covered hem of my knickers, struggling to get hold of it and just managing to hook the lace with one of my nails to pull it away from my body. It was all that I needed to then be able to take hold of the lacy red undergarment properly, before yanking them down. The amount of gunge everywhere meant that they didn’t slide down too easily and got caught just above my knees, so a bit of tugging and shimmying was required to shake them down, before I could lift one leg free and use the other to lift the gunge-soaked pair of panties. I took hold of it and screwed it into a ball, throwing the green, blue and red pair straight at Izzy.
“My prize!” she gasped, snatching them out of the air with one hand and, looking straight to me, she held them to her face, stuck out her tongue and licked some of the gunge away. Well, there was no doubt in my mind now that this was a fetish for her. Any semblance of this just being silly, petty revenge was shattered now, though the fact it took this act when I was already naked and covered in the stuff should have been my first clue. Naively, I’d still clung to the belief that she was just having fun with my embarrassment up until this point…
Remembering what had happened when the gunge had first started pouring, I sat back down on the seat, extended my arms across the back rest of it, with my knees side-by-side, and then leaned my upper body back. The cart turned and I felt gunge splattering against my thigh, then as I moved closer, it began gushing down over it and I bit my bottom lip in anticipation for what would happen next. The main green downpour continued pouring straight down as the cart turned, forcing my exposed crotch underneath the gooey onslaught. Despite bracing for it, and having experienced plenty of gunge already today, the sensation still shocked me with how cold and gooey it was and I felt my entire body clench – fingernails digging into palms, toes curling, bum held tightly as I gasped aloud, something that turned into a shudder as my body moved through the green gunk and out of it again, allowing me to finally relax… once I’d reached down and cleared some of the gunk away.
The cart continued its rotation and I heard Izzy call out to me, “Final spin now!” as if it was some kind of washing machine cycle or something. This time though, I sat upright, my face tilted back a bit to get one last gooey coating, with one leg crossed over the other and my hands held up pointlessly. I didn’t know what to do with them, so just left them to hang as the cart completed its cycle and stopped with my head under the gungy deluge once again. There was a click as the cart stopped its cycle and then a louder click from overhead as each of the blue and purple nozzles, up to this point just a minor addition to the gunging, suddenly exploded into life, each churning out a thick column of gunge, able to rival the green onslaught for ferocity, as my entire body was engulfed in the gunge all at once. Not a single part of me felt like it was being spared from the ridiculous amount of mess being blasted at me now, but fortunately, the finale only lasted a couple of seconds before it stopped and I was able to tilt my head back forwards, wiping my eyes, nose and lips, hurling handfuls of sticky goop into the now shin-deep pool of gunge gathering at the bottom of the cart.
As I sat with my cheeks puffed out, involuntarily shivering from the coldness, wiping my eyes again, I heard a small cough and looked up to see Izzy stood before me.
“So, about that kiss,” she said, smirking as she stepped into the cart, lowering herself down onto the seat once more, straddling my gungy thighs. She bit her lips, whispering quietly, “You’ve never looked better to me,” before cradling the back of my head with her hands and pressing her lips to mine.
It wasn’t a tender or delicate kiss, this was a raw, passionate, sloppy kiss, and within milliseconds I had Izzy trying to force her tongue into my mouth, something I was only too happy to oblige, returning the favour by forcing a gob of gunge into her mouth. I saw her eyes widen and she pulled back, before swallowing and then grinning at me, “I can’t believe you snowballed me!” she shouted, pushing playfully at my shoulder.
“I think, after all you’ve done,” I said, nodding down at my gunge-covered body. “It was the least I could do.”
Looking down at my naked frame, covered in a thick layer of tricolour gunge, Izzy could only nod in agreement, her cheeks still slightly red from it though. “You know,” she said, “There is one part of the house tour left…”
“What?” I blurted, feeling my body temperature rise instantly. I’d seen this before, the fireplace was always the end, so just what did sh-
“Don’t worry, silly,” she teased, “It’s just the NHP showers… and I’ll gladly join you for that bit of the tour…”
