Since her last messy escapade, Sam had been hoping for another similar opportunity. McNoodle King had been the perfect place for her to live out her newfound fetishes without too much risk. She’d even done an especially good job of cleaning up after herself – partly because her actions had made a thorough cleaning a necessity but partly because she hoped they would ask her to come back and do it again.
But two weeks had gone by without a word and a thirst was growing. She tried satiating it with less extravagant sploshing sessions in her own home but without the inherent risk of doing it somewhere more public it just wasn’t the same. Sure, she managed to get off and she still enjoyed the care-free excitement of getting messy, but without that added risk it was never as good. It was like she’d tasted Champagne for the first time and supermarket rosé just wasn’t good enough any more.
Of course, she could just take her own slop to the offices she cleaned on a regular basis but they were mostly carpeted and the idea of getting her sexual thrills in a semi-public office toilet was a rabbit hole she wasn’t ready to go down.
She was busy pondering her plight and half-heartedly dusting a keyboard when she noticed something unusual. This place had a kitchen. Most of the offices she visited regularly had a kettle and maybe a microwave at most but here, tucked away in a corner, almost out of sight,Sam spied laminate flooring. She put her duster down and went to investigate.
Sure enough there was a sink, a work surface, cupboards filled with glasses and even a fridge. This could work, she thought. There space was big enough that a table had been placed in the middle of it and she could hear a dishwasher whirring away, presumably inside one of the cupboards. This could definitely work. The only problem was that she hadn’t expected this and hadn’t prepared for it. She had anticipated a boring night of dusting keyboards and hoovering carpets. Unlike the restaurant a couple of weeks ago she doubted this place would have leftovers lying around either.
But, what about the fridge? She moved towards it then hesitated. Even if there were suitable substances inside it would be stealing. Sam was clearly willing to get messy in a potentially public place but stealing from people was different. She was a nymphomaniac, not a kleptomaniac , she told herself. Still, it couldn’t hurt to look, could it?
She opened the fridge and found various yoghurts, a two litre bottle of milk, a bunch of bottled and canned drinks and… It wasn’t much, mess-wise, but it would be enough if she was economical. There was a supermarket next door, she could probably pop in and replace everything she used before the staff here even arrived. Yes, that would be fine, wouldn’t it? If she made a mental note of everything she used and replaced it exactly – specific brands and flavours – nobody would ever even know. They should thank her for getting them fresher goods.
Any lingering doubt had been washed away. She still had hours of darkness to the deed, clean up and go and replace everything she’d used. It would be the perfect crime. Without another thought she started picking out anything slimy she could find. It seemed as if the office was fueled purely by yoghurt and fizzy drinks. Fortunately, there were a few condiments in there to add variety. Sam pulled out ketchup and mayonnaise to go alongside a dozen yoghurts and set them all in a row on the worktop.
She look over her findings, trying to burn the image into her memory for later, then took a moment to make sure there was absoltuely nobody around. It was almost midnight and she had been told the security guard would just sit in the lobby all night but she wanted to be sure. Of course, part of her was hoping she would have some kind of audience, but she didn’t really want to get caught with other people’s food
The place was almost eerily empty. She was completely alone – the only sound was a constant hum from being in a room full of computers, interspersed with the odd passing car.
She felt giddy removing her skirt but the freedom she had without it was liberating. She felt sexier already and she had scarcely begun. She folded the skirt tup on the worktop and reached for the nearest yoghurt, peeling off the lid in no time. Toffee. It almost matched her skin. She pushed her fingers into the goo and let them linger a moment, luxiriating in the cool, slick sensation. Then she scooped it up and began to smooth it over her other arm like some kind of sweet-smelling moisturiser. The cold made her shiver and a wicked giggle escaped her lips involuntarily. This was what she had been waiting for.
Quickly she switched hands and scooped up some more, smearing it over her still-clean right arm till there was nothing left in the pot. She reached for another at random – strawberry, as it turned out. She peeled back the lid, lifted the pot over head and poured over her upturned face. It was thicker than the last, she realised, so thick that it took a moment ooze out of its container. So thick and slow that she made the mistake of opening her eyes again to make sure it was coming at all. She barely got them closed again before the glutinous goo began to engulf her face. The chill of it took her breath away and got her heart racing. She needed more and she needed it now.
She didn’t even think about stopping to clear her vision, opting to fumble around blindly till her hand grasped another pot. She had no idea what flavour this one was, nor did she care. She ripped the lid off and poured it across her bust, letting it soak into the fabric of her work-branded polo shirt. It seeped through steadily enough but Sam needed it more urgently. She cupped her breasts in her slimy hands and squeezed. There was plenty to squeeze and she loved the feeling of her hands pressing the cool, clammy slime through her bra onto the sensitive flesh beneath. She squeezed several times before deciding she was done with them for the time being.
But in all the groping she had lost her bearings. She finally decided to wipe her eyes clean with the back of her hand – the best she could manage – in order to see what she was doing. Now she craved slime elsewhere.
The next yoghurt she grabbed was banana. It almost looked like custard when she opened it but Sam only cared what it was going to feel like, especially as it contined chunks of real banana. With her free hand she pinched her knickers and tights together and pulled them away from her tummy. She looked down as she poured, watching the yellow slime splatter and pool in her previously-black knickers while gritting her teeth against the urge to squeal. She knew she couldn’t be seen but the security guard surely had ears.
The sensation was everything she’d hoped for. She couldn’t resist rubbing the comical bulge in her tights and knickers once she’d let go. The way it squelched and shifted under her touch was heavenly and only made her want more still.
Her perfectly curved behind would have to be next. She took two yoghurts this time and peeled them both open before awkwardly shifting into a position that allowed her to pour them down the back of her knickers, one-by-one. They were still cold, but oozing over her pert, fleshy cheeks she knew she had to sit down and wriggle to get the most enjoyment. She did just that, giggling to herself playfully as she wriggled her yoghurt-soaked bum against the laminate flooring. She felt silly – utterly ridiculous, in fact – and she loved it. By now her knickers were filled to bursting and her wriggling was shifting the gunk around in the most blissful of ways.
Without getting up, and without ceasing her squirming she reached up for more ammunition. This time it wasn’t yoghurt she found, however. It was an almost-full looking squeezy bottle of mayonnaise. An idea crept over her, but she wanted to save it for last. Oh, yes, mayo would make a perfect finale, but not yet. She put it on the floor close by and tried again. Cherry yoghurt. She looked around again, instinctively, before removing her shirt altogether. A few thin streaks of yoghurt adorned her flat stomach but her bra had contained most of what she’d poured there. With the cherry yoghurt she was more liberal. She lifted it above her breasts and upturned it, alllowing the contents to fall with an audible splat all over her cleavage. It immediately started to leak between them and down her belly. Sam dropped the yoghurt pot and started to rub its contents all over her tits and tummy, coating herself as completely as she could.
One hand slid into her gooey underwear without a concious thought and she worker her slippery clitoris with yoghurt-coated fingers. Her other hand was free to roam and so it did. She smeared the gunk over her tits, rubbed it roughly into her face and even slicked it back through her mostly-clean hair. She was starting to get carried away now and she didn’t care. She unhooked her bra, let her big, round breasts bounce free and began to pinch and squeeze her gooey nipples.
She was getting so close now but she still had a grand finale in mind. She willed her hand away from her breasts and reached for the mayo. The tension was building between her thighs as she leant her head back and started to squirt the mayo directly onto her face. She timed it perfectly, coating her face in thick white gunk as orgasm took over her body and a care-free groan of self-indulgent pleasure escaped her glistening red lips. Oh, God, it was perfect, she thought to herself, still rubbing through the ecstacy. She had stopped squirting the mayo and finally, exhaustedly, she stop fingering herself.
What a state she was – on the floor of some office building in just her tights and knickers, covered in yoghurt and with a self-inflicted mayonnaise facial. She imagined what she must look like if she had somehow lost track of time and got herself discovered in this state by the staff. The idea had some appeal to it but she knew it wasn’t realistic. Fun was over. She had a job to do and step one was cleaning herself up in the nearest sink. At least she had come prepared with an extra uniform but after washing off the majority of the mess she decided it would be fun to leave the same knickers on for the duration.
She was right. The remaining hours of cleaning were mostly as dull as expected, but every so often she would forget what she had done and bending to reach a dropped pen or an awkward corner would give her a little squelch reminder that her knickers were still filled with yoghurt.
She finished just after 8AM – in time for the shop next door to open but with an hour to spare before the staff here started work.
‘I just need to nip to the shop before I’m done,’ she told the security guard on the desk. ‘Back in a moment.’
‘Oh,’ he said, looking up from his newspaper. ‘Hold on a minute.’
‘You want a coffee or something?’
‘Oh, no, I’m good. But you missed a spot,’ he said, pointing just above her right ear.
Sam could feel her cheeks burning red in an instant. ‘You…’
‘Saw the whole performance. CCTV everywhere but the toilets. I’ll definitely recommend you next time we need a cleaner,’ he said with a grin.