1,
How had I found myself here? Did it matter anymore? All that mattered was that I was in trouble.
Let me quantify that, I had been tarred and feathered, was hogtied and in the back of a Transit van about to be delivered to God knows where
Any normal person would have been filled with fear and trepidation, filled with massive levels of humiliation. Clearly, as I was finding this to be hot as hell and almost ready to cum, I was not a normal person.
2.
"Twin or double?"
In fact, it was a ground floor disabled room, close to the fire exit and the first thing I did was to isolate the door alarm and pull up the car outside. You see, it is always easier if curious reception staff don't see you bringing in bags and boxes. They want to know what's inside and are more prone to knock on the door later to ensure you are not up to trouble.
If they knew the answer was that the bags contained tarpaulins, plastic sheeting, custard, cake batter and the like, they would, as likely as not, tell you to bugger off and cancel the booking on the spot.
Oh goodness, to be a splosher. One of those unique fetishists who enjoyed the feel of sloppy mess on your body. Naturally, if we were 'normal' Whatever the hell that was! A can of squirty cream and some chocolate sauce would do, but 'fuck normality' was our clarion cry as we unloaded gallon jugs of syrup and molasses.
Of course, as is life. We had met each other in the wrong order. We had both known about our kinks. Those little messy foibles set us apart from the boring people. But, had started relationships with the very people we chose to avoid. Yes, we have love and family, but we also have an itch that has to be scratched. So, fate, chance, call it what you will, conspired to ensure we met to allow our, dirty little secrets to be played out.
So, we were stymied, we couldn't play messy games at home while a curious (read furious) partner looked on. And, finding a messy playroom wasn't, as yet, a search option on TripAdvisor. So, we would go through this subterfuge. The weeks of planning, the copious amounts of cleaning materials, the set-up which, if discovered could make us look like serial killers. I mean, what normal person wraps a hotel room in thick plastic.
A few tips, should you wish to follow our lead. Always choose a ground floor room (you really don't want a dripping rubbish bag to dribble something over the lift and cause questions). Go for a disabled room, with their 'wet rooms' and additional bars which offer options for tie-up games and finally, be discrete and ensure the 'do not disturb' sign is on the door at all times.
Of course, there are other housekeeping things, making sure the shower is working before you go too far - schoolboy error! But I will let you guess what crucial mistake I made.
***
The room was soon set up, just as we liked it. Shower tested, powerful and unlimited hot water, we would need that. Plastic on the bed and floors, of course ensuring the walls were covered for splatters and there would be plenty of those. We allowed ourselves a drink in the bar, something to overcome those last-minute nerves.
I looked around the others in the quiet bar, I wondered about their stories. The clandestine meetings, the boring lone masturbaters and us. Would you guess that the middle-aged fatty and his beautiful partner would soon be playing out the sort of scene which would be too shocking even for a channel five documentary? I allowed a smile to play across my face, a tall blond woman opposite smiled back, a knowing smile.
***
"Are you ready?"
Stupid question, she was like a child in a sweet shop. She knew what was coming, she had helped me line up the pies. Open the tins and tear the corners from the packages of custard. She wanted it all, she would get it all. Right now, the expectation had rendered her silent, her heart racing. I offered her a seat. She straightened her little black dress, adjusted her stockings and sat in the plastic chair.
I smiled. I would take my time; she was here to savour the experience and I was going to make that happen.
3.
Was I ready? I was past the point of excitement, my nipples hard and my silk panties soaked with my impending pleasure. This was my escape. If someone had asked me if they had cared to, why do you want to be restrained and messed up? I would have honestly said it was my only escape. A loss of control, but more than that, it was a release. Release from the boring job, from pandemic lockdown, from the everyday. The moment I felt the ropes tighten around my wrists I knew all that had been left behind.
I didn't know why I reacted as I did to mess. It was a bizarre, almost ridiculous kink which, for a long time had worried or puzzled me. Then I realised. It wasn't to be questioned; I couldn't change myself. It was the same as saying the sky was blue, it is, it's a fact and nothing I could do would change it. My fetish was a part of me. A delicious thing that allowed me to fly. Oh, I was sad for people who would never understand the release that this would give me. The joy.
Yes, it was a sexual thing Let's get to the animal level. I would cum more times than I had in the previous year. But it was more than that. I would be released into subspace, that place of total escape from the world where my body would be totally electric, my mind flying.
I saw him smile. Pie in hand. I tugged against my bindings. I knew they were sound, but this was the moment I wanted to savour, that second before it started. He knew that. He approached me slowly, telling me I was a slut Yet, with a smile. This wasn't hateful, this was the silliest, most joyful, sensual experience.
"Bring it on!" My voice was husky, the hormones flooding my body.
The feeling of the first impact. There is a second when your world goes dark, you have to rely on your other senses. The smell, well, your nose in engulfed in vanilla and chocolate. The sound there is that 'splat' the dripping of cream on plastic. And the feeling, a coolness which engulfs you, the drip onto your chest.
Of course, he doesn't stop with one pie, there are six in quick succession before he allows me a moment to enjoy the feeling. He clears my eyes as my hands are useless. I feel the weight across my head and upper body, it is flowing across my chest, embracing my, already stiff nipples.
Custard is next, seeping into my dress, the chill raising goosebumps on my skin. His hands as he smooths it over the silk of my dress, sweeping over my nipples which elicits a gasp of primal pleasure.
I'm squirming in the seat, the custard and cream pooling in my crotch, doing nothing to ease the fire down below. He helps me stand, placing a massive cake on the chair before gesturing for me to sit again. I sink into deep frosting which engulfs my pussy through the gossamer-thin fabric. I imagine what I look like. I had stepped into this room a trophy, the little black dress, the high heels. Now my perfectly set hair which had cost a small fortune was matted to my head, layered with cream and chocolate with a cherry on top which he had placed there. My face, previously made up perfectly was under layers of custard which also tarnished my dress. And there, between my thighs, I was sitting on a huge, sloppy cake.
I stare into the mirror, seeing the reality and almost cumming right there and then, the scene of the perfect woman brought down.
It continued. A gallon of cake batter, which smoothed my features, he ran his hands through the thick slop. Then more pies before chocolate sauce gave me a uniform coating of brown. I shone like a statue. My shoes were removed one by one, filled with honey for the left, its thick embrace gluing the shoe to my foot. The right topped to the brim with custard which splattered onto the floor.
My dress was ruined so he tore it from me. Cutting at the seams before ripping the fabric. I stood admiring my lingerie, the black lace bra, coated with custard, my silk panties and the stockings and suspenders.
As I stood, he tipped icy liquid into my panties. Melted ice cream, I cursed, but, as he slipped his fingers in, swirling the cream around my clit I felt the heat build. I was soaking wet as he slipped the balls inside me. Each movement was a delight as they fidgeted deep within.
I was, of course, too clean for his liking. Soon resolved with two gallons of molasses and three bags of flour. I was soon coated, first shiny and then statuesque in a thick layer of white. He removed my bra, there was some bare skin but it was minimal, the flow of molasses soon covered any clue that I was a human and not a statue.
