Messy Breakup

There's a really specific and unique combination of pitying soft sad little "oh"s under someone's breath, disgusted groans, shocked laughter, and cruel mocking jeers that is the soundtrack to my nightmares. A psychic wave of "god I can't believe she's letting that happen to her, fuck I'm so glad that's not me down there, holy shit she looks fucking ridiculous", projected loud and poured over me, just like everything else tonight. The way they all look at me is one more layer of humiliation glazing me. It feels like it gets worse each time. I hate how much I need it, how much my body responds to it. Addicted to this specific flavor of total degradation. How had I ended up here yet again?

======================

"You love me, right babe?" I could tell from the cheshire cat grin on my partners face that I was being outmaneuvered, and they were enjoying it.

"Yes, of course! Have I given you any reason to doubt that?" I was trying to focus on making eye contact with them but I could feel my attention constantly being pulled to the inflatable pool being set up, the tarp being laid down. There was a cardboard sign on a pillar, facing away from me. I wondered what it said. Probably nothing good... I could feel the attention of the rest of the dungeon on the setup as well.

"And you'd do anything I asked you to do, isn't that right darling girl?" I snapped my focus back to them, and noticed that they had produced two sets of cuffs.

"Uhm... yes, anything I can do to please you..." I could feel my voice starting to shrink, the words stumbling out shyly. I couldn't make eye contact anymore, staring down at the floor, my feet, the assembled buckets of as of yet unknown hideous mess.

"Then you should strip to your panties and get down on your stomach, in that pool, with your hands and legs tucked up at the small of your back. Prove your devotion, pet." There was no arguing with the tone; firm, confident, in control. It had been so long since I was allowed to cum, and I could feel my nerves jangling as that voice tugged on them. I knew what would come next would be awful, but it felt so good to obey...

My clothing slid off with small shy movements, like pieces of armor slowly stripped away. I didn't bother pressing an arm across my tits, I just took quick little steps over to the pool, kneeling and then laying on the crinkling tarp, and folded my legs and arms behind my back, ready to be cuffed into a hogtie position. They knelt down behind me, efficiently restraining wrists and ankles with a few quick clicks, and then rolled me on my side and tucked a vibe into the front of my panties. It was set to an agonizing setting, a slow build up in intensity and then an abrupt cutoff for a few frustrating seconds before slowly ramping up again. I whimpered, and tried to avoid wriggling into it, tried to avoid letting it melt my brain completely, as they rolled me back down to my stomach. They stood proudly in front of me, and I strained my neck to look up at them as they carefully slid the keys to the hogtie around their neck, and then slid toes under my chin, forcing me to stay facing them.

"And, of course, you trust me, don't you? You pathetic little bitch?" I flinched slightly away from the comment, and their foot tapped me firmly on the cheek, not a kick but a reminder to keep looking at them.

"Yeh... Yes of... of course I do..." I mumbled dumbly up at them. They knelt slowly, grabbing my face firmly in one hand, forcing me to look into their eyes only.

"Then I want you to listen very carefully, and trust me completely when I tell you that it's not me. It's you." They smirked, all warmth now completely drained from their face, only cold cruelty and vicious joy remaining.

"Wh-" My reply was cut off as they slapped me hard with a pie, straight on into my face, the shock taking away my ability to speak, my words replaced with an anguished moan. With my hands firmly cuffed behind my back, I could only shake my head and blink to try and clear my eyes. "What do you m-" Another pie was slammed firmly into my face as soon as I'd come close to clearing my vision. They twisted it, ground it firmly into my face, the crust breaking into awful little crumbs against my nose, my forehead. They force another firmly onto the top of my head, slid it to the back, pushed me down, the horrible cloying creamy mixture sinking into my hair, before they flicked the tin away.

"Face down now, don't fucking look at me." Their tone was acid, ice, venom. I stayed obediently facing down, shivering and twitching slightly as the toy built me up higher and then cut out again. I felt something cold and thick plopping horribly onto the back of my head, waited for it to run down my face, tentatively stuck a tongue out. Cake batter... I could imagine the matted wreck my hair was already.

"Uhm... uh please... what did you..."

"I mean, I'm breaking up with you, you dumb slut." I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach.

"Wh... right now?" In front of a dungeon full of our friends? While I'm naked and cuffed on the floor and you're pouring gallons of fucking slime over me? I couldn't process properly. The room had gone quiet, the rest of the dungeon leaning in, whispering quietly to each other. I couldn't really hear any of the mutterings, between the pounding in my ears and the cake batter.

"Yeaaaah... I mean, I kind of wanted to explain why, and this seemed like the easiest way to do it. Oh wait, shoot, I got something for this!" There was a quiet surprised scattering of laughter, and I chanced a look up to see them turning back around from showing something off. They knelt down again, and grabbed a handful of cake-batter covered hair, pulling my face up to show me a thick, overfrosted cake. The words 'Later, Loser' had been written on it in bright pink frosting. They slid it on the ground directly under my face.

"See! I'm so thoughtful, I got you a break up cake! God I'm too good for you. But I guess that's the issue, isn't it?" Their grip on the back of my head shifted abruptly from holding me up to slamming me down, face first, deep into the cake.

"Why would someone like me; hot, smart, funny, popular, in all kinds of high demand-" they slid my face back and forth, grinding me deeper and deeper into the layers of cake and frosting.

"-Why would I eeeever want to date a stupid, pathetic, embarrassing little pervert loser freak like you? Hmm? Can you give me even one reason?" They let go of my hair, but I couldn't bring myself to lift my face out of the mush I was buried in. My cheeks were burning, I could feel tears welling up, somehow it felt worse to try and fight my way out of the muck. I couldn't think of anything to say.

"That's what I thought. Nothing of value in your dumb slutty little head, hmm?" They must have stepped behind me, because I suddenly felt a swift sharp kick aimed at my ribs. My hogtied body couldn't flinch out of the way, or roll into a ball to protect myself, and I moaned stupidly into the cake as they delivered a few more more swift kicks and stomps to my sides, my thighs, my ass. As usual, the beatdown drove me stupid, my brain turning white and soft and fuzzy and desperate and useless.

"...p...please... please don't do this..." I couldn't stop the whimpering from escaping my mouth, flinching even as I said it. I knew I sounded pathetic but I couldn't help it. "Please... please we can talk about this..." I could feel something a little thinner, syrup maybe, being drizzled in artistic little ribbons back and forth over my back, across my ass, down my bruised legs.

"There's nothing to talk about. You're a loser. And I don't date losers." I felt a shower of something small and hard, heard a rattle against the tarp. Sprinkles, probably, decorating and sticking to the syrup, coating my thick, ruined hair.

"Please, please let me go, this isn't... this isn't right..." My voice was barely more than a whisper at this point, the lump in my throat pressing the words down.

"Hmmm......... no. Not my problem anymore. Beg someone else to do it. If you can find someone who doesn't mind getting all covered in shit just to help a loser like you." The jingle of keys made me look up, hoping they were bluffing, getting ready to uncuff me. I shook my eyes clear just in time to watch them drop the necklace with the cuff keys into a deep pitcher of molasses, thick and black and evil, and moaned helplessly.

"I'm gonna go upstairs, and make out with some people who are clean and dry. I'm going to enjoy myself. I hope you enjoy yourself too, you stupid slut." They turned to address the dungeon, gesturing towards me and the rest of the unused supplies. "She's all yours, do whatever you want". They began walking towards the stairs before turning to gloat over their shoulder. "This way we all get what we deserve! I get attention from people who I can actually respect, and you get to lay on the ground covered in garbage and beg for a tiny bit of pity from anyone who can stand to look at you for more than a second." And then they walked upstairs.

=====================================

At first, I just collapsed back into the cake mush in front of me, unable to strain my neck any longer, the hopelessness pushing into the embarrassment, the awful stickiness fighting with the building frustrated arousal from the toy still pulsing under me. Surely this was some joke, a prank, and they'd be running back down the stairs to let me out, to walk me to the shower, to apologize... I heard footsteps drawing closer and managed to pull my head up, a weary smile growing under the goo. I tried shaking my eyes clear again.

"That was... ha... you really had me go-" The feet were different. It wasn't them. I felt something disgustingly slippery and cold drench me suddenly. Vegetable oil. I shuddered, gasping, looking up through the slimy haze. It was... well, an hour ago I would have said a friend. Someone I knew, had seen at parties and munches, flirted with idly. And now they were pouring an entire bottle of vegetable oil on me. They ran it down my back, the cold making me shiver. They poured a healthy dollop on my ass, my underwear no doubt transparent at this point, tossed the empty bottle into the pool next to me.

"Wh..why" I spluttered, as they began looking through the rest of the supplies arrayed around me.

"They said we could do whatever to you! And I've always been curious about it. And you're not in a position to argue really. Figure your night can't get much worse. Oh, is this flour? God I bet that will turn into paste on top of that vegetable oil."

"P...Please don't please please please it'll take ages to get out of my hair, please just uncuff me so I can shower, please don't do this pl-" there was a soft whumph as they upended a cup of flour over my head, and I felt more being sprinkled out of the bag, over my body.

"No... I don't want to reach into the jug of molasses, and your cuffs look pretty sticky too. I'm sorry, I'd just rather stay clean..." They stepped out of the way as a handful of other curious people drew in closer, picking up bottles of poster paint, elmers glue, bags of confetti, each one of them wearing a mixture of curiosity, pity, apology, glee, on their faces. I knew these people, this was my community, how could they do this to me? Especially now? I felt anger and resentment well up inside me.

I tried to fight back.

I writhed away, but strong hands pinned me down, pulled me back into place. I cursed them out, but any time I said anything 'rude' they stuffed bananas, frosting, cupcakes into my mouth. I begged, thrashed, pleaded, squirmed, whined, flinched. They mercilessly destroyed me, every inch of my body coated, groped, pinched, mocked. No secrets, no dignity.

I gave up. I sobbed. I lay there, helplessly, as I was abused. I always loved being the center of attention, and the focus and attention I received at the hands of my bullies was the only gift they had to offer.

Eventually the pace slowed down. The bowls and tubs were empty, the pies and cakes used up. The crowd grew disinterested, slowly dispersed, went back to watching other scenes, washed off their hands.

I lay there, panting, dripping, wretched. I couldn't stop helplessly grinding and moaning against the toy, even as hot frustrated embarrassed tears streaked a path through the mess on my face. I was trapped in a pool of awful sticky mess, and I had to just lay there and watch everyone else go back to normal. I desperately wanted to be back to normal. I wanted to be warm, and clean, and having a conversation, or eating a snack, watching someone else suffer prettily in the dungeon. And instead I was some pitiful object of disdain, nothing that deserved to be treated like a person. Something to be laughed at or ignored. Drip, drip, drip. I could feel the syrups starting to dry, the melted frosting cooling back into a solid mass in my hair. It was impossible to get comfortable, and every time I moved, the slop underneath me squelched embarrassingly. I slumped back face down into the muck, my brain struggling to do anything but wallow. I'm not sure how much time passed. When I get ruined like this it feels like hours go by as I lay there breathlessly trying to stack one braincell on top of the other, try to come to terms with what just happened to me. What everyone did to me.

Eventually I heard footsteps, pulled my dripping face out of the swamp, blinked sticky eyelids apart. One of my 'friends' had walked back over and had begun taking photos. They didn't make eye contact with me, or say anything at all, they just dispassionately documented what had happened to me. I slowly, ploddingly tried to pull myself back together enough to speak.

"P... please... please can you give me the keys? I'll uncuff myself but please, please give me the keys..."

They seemed to barely hear me, but eventually looked up from their phone with a vaguely annoyed expression, as though I'd made a stupid joke instead of begging for my freedom.

"Well, I'm not reaching in there." They looked at the jug of molasses with disgust.

"Uhm... You could dump it out, and pick the keys out?" I knew with utmost certainty they wouldn't let me off the hook, but my brain forced me to try and offer them a way out.

"I'm not touching them." They watched me for a few more seconds, before turning to leave.

"Wait!" They paused, expectantly, not yet leaving but not turning back around. God, they were going to make me beg.

"You could... you could pour the pitcher out on me... and I could get the keys that way..." They turned slowly around, trying to hide their triumph behind their disgust.

"Is that what you want? Do you want me to pour this pitcher of molasses all over you?" I shook my head, the tears threatening to well up again.

"No, I just want to shower off and go hom- No! Wait don't!" They had turned and walked a few steps away, slowing to a stop and turning around with theatricality. "P...Please pour the molasses on me, please, I need you to..."

"Why do you need it? Answer carefully." They grinned at me like a wolf.

"Uhm... because... because I'm a loser... and I deserve to be treated like garbage... I need it in my hair and all over my face, to ruin me... please, please ruin me, it's all I deserve..." As I begged they walked back over to me, knelt down, hefted the pitcher only a few inches above my face.

"Ok then, you pathetic fucking slut. Look up. And thank me the whole fucking time, or I walk away." They began pouring, slowly, the pitcher full of probably more than a gallon of the sludge. It was endlessly thick, and smelled heavily, and clung to every strand of hair, wound its way slowly down from the crown of my head to coat my face, my neck, my tits, my back.

"Thank you, thank you god, thank you so much, please don't stop, please I need it, thank you, thank you" I was shaking, the words pouring out like a prayer, a sobbed confession, a song I've always known the lyrics to.

Eventually something slightly heavier dripped out of the pitcher, slithered slowly down my face. My 'friend' spat thickly into my face, their spit following the track the keys took.

"You know you owe me big time, right?" They got up without waiting for a response, and I began writhing back and forth, rolling in the slop like a fucking dog, trying to get my hands on a set of slippery keys while still hogtied. People laughed quietly, made mock sympathy noises every time the keys slipped out of my hands.

Finally, mercifully, the lock for the cuffs around my hands clicked quietly, and my arms pulled apart, my aching muscles finally slackening. I fell back heavily into the muck, breathing hard, trying to ignore the eyes on me. I rolled to a sitting position, facing away from my 'adoring audience', wiped pounds of slime out of my eyes. I pulled my legs up in front of me, and unlocked them as well, rubbing where the cuffs had bit into my ankles. I needed to sit, and stretch my limbs. I needed to shamble upstairs and collapse into the shower, to be reborn under the warm water. I needed to eat, to drink, I felt like a wrung out sponge.

I fished the toy out of the front of my panties.

Fuck... I needed to cum. I was aching, desperate for release. I hated it. I hated how much the abuse turned me on. I hated how much my body ran my mind. I hated how badly I needed to cum. I hated that I was going to keep putting on a show for these fucking monsters. I snuck a hand into my underwear, and let out a long low moan, and heard chuckles from behind me.

(STOP HERE IF YOU WANT THE BAD END, ONLY KEEP READING IF YOU LIKE SAPPY HAPPY ENDINGS)

"God you're pathetic. Touching yourself after all this? Because of all this?" I froze. When had they come back downstairs? I looked over my shoulder, and there they were, kneeling at the front of the pool again. They were more naked than they had been when they went upstairs, lipstick and hickies and bitemarks all over their chest. They were flushed, and they were grinning, but was there a hint of warmth behind their smile this time? I scooched over till I was facing them again, helplessly enamored still, no matter how much I tried to turn it off after the abuse, I couldn't help wanting to fall at their feet.

"I didn't tell you to stop. Keep touching. Edge yourself though, no cumming."

I nodded, wordlessly, both hands working now, stupid animal noises coming out of my mouth. They stood now, looking down at me, but not with disgust, not even really with pity. It was something softer, gentler than that. Fondness, I dared to hope? They walked backwards, not breaking eye contact, taking everything in.

"You're pathetic, aren't you, babe?" I nodded wordlessly, moaning a little in frustration as I came to the edge, had to pull away, slow down, extending the torture. God I needed to cum more than I ever had in my entire life. I began slowly building again.

"You're a disgusting loser, a stupid little public use slut, aren't you darling?" I nodded again, biting my lips around a louder moan boiling up from inside me.

"Say it, slut." They were standing next to the pillar that had the sign on it facing away from me, and they slowly pulled it free, holding it with the words against their chest.

"I'm... uhm... god... I'm a disgusting slut, I'm pathetic, I deserve to be used and abused by anyone who wants to." I was crying again, with need, with humiliation, with exhaustion, filled with a deep stupid desire to please my tormentor, to be useful or entertaining or anything worth their time.

"I know you are, baby. That's why I love you, honey. You're a freak, but you're my freak." They turned the sign around, showing it off with a little flourish.

"FAKE BREAKUP SCENE. USE EVERYTHING ON HER. STAY IN CHARACTER (MEAN). CALL ME BACK DOWN WHEN YOU LET HER OUT"

"Cum for me, my stupid little loser. Cum your fucking brains out telling me how much you adore me. Cum for me and prove me right about everything I said about you, you perfect worthless beautiful disgusting mess of a slut." The permission hit me like a bullet, the first waves of pleasure rattling through me pushing me from kneeling to sitting to falling sideways, collapsing as all the pent up tension released.