I don’t really remember how I got here. Last night was my nineteenth birthday – it must’ve been good, I barely remember it – and my boyfriend took me out. Somehow I ended up here; shackled to a chair by my feet, my hands cuffed together, blindfolded in an empty room. I presume it’s empty due to the near silence of the place, at least.
‘Hello?’ I shout.
No reply. Judging by the echo, I’m in a fairly large room. A shed or warehouse perhaps. I’m slightly scared now, hearing footsteps behind me. I feel a hand on my shoulder. Vaguely familiar but I’m too scared to think where I know the touch from. Then he speaks and I know exactly who it is.
‘Well Tash. Weren’t we the life of the party last night?’ Not so much a question as a statement.
‘…But I’m afraid you’ve been a naughty girl, and naughty girls need to be punished.’
‘Mike, what are you talking about?’
I’m scared still. Not because of who it is – Mike is my boyfriend – but what he means by ‘naughty girl’ and moreover, what he means by ‘punished’. I strain to remember last night but can’t.
‘Have a bit to drink? Maybe you need to be reminded of what happened.’
Sarcastic as ever but I’m worried. I wouldn’t cheat on Mike, but why would he be doing this to me?
‘Just tell me. I really don’t remember last night. What happened? Why am I tied up?’
I’m surprised at the tone of desperation in my own voice. He really knows how to wind me up sometimes.
‘So you really don’t remember a thing?’
‘Oh dear, maybe this will remind you.’
The water was terribly cold and made me jump when it hit. I felt it run down my back and shivered. I try to move my hands to my face but they are cuffed together. I hate the water dripping down my face and try in vain to blow itaway.
‘Bring back any memories?’ he asks, mockingly.
A blurry vision forms itself in my head – a conversation about sex or something. Fetishes, we definitely spoke about fetishes in the pub, a group of us. Then… and then… Oh shit. I remember now and feel a worried look sneak across my face.
‘I’m sorry Mike, I was just pissed. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.’
‘It’s a little late now,’ he says with a slightly irritated tone in his voice. ‘But don’t worry, I’ll show you how it feels.’
‘What’re you talking about!?’
He doesn’t respond, just sniggers and moves away. I can hear the scuffle of his feet and suddenly, a clink of metal.
‘What was that?’ I almost yell at him. I immediately regret my response but my nerves still haven’t settled from before. I bet he’s loving this. The next thing I hear sounds like something cracking – an egg. Suddenly I have some idea of what’s coming:
‘Fancy some breakfast, Tash?’
He couldn’t be more sarcastic if he tried.
‘Please don’t.’ I plead, ‘not now. At least let me get changed, my sister would kill me if I got this skirt messy.’
‘Oh don’t worry about it; we’ll just have to take it off, won’t we?’
I hear him walking back over to me, the metallic noise clinking along with him. He runs his hand down my leg slowly, all the way to my cuffed ankles. He unshackles both my legs and runs his hand back up the inside of my leg, making me shiver, but it has nothing to do with the temperature.
‘Aww, all wet are we Tash?’
If we could see my eyes, he’d know they were rolling. Such a cheap joke but he is right. The water soaked my hair, but the nervousness has my adrenaline flowing – and that’s not all.
He unbuttons the skirt.
‘Stand up,’ he demands.
I do and the skirt falls to the floor. I think of running, but I can’t. Partially because I can’t see, partially because I know he’d catch me, but partially because some of me doesn’t want to leave. I’m anxious to see what his punishment entails (although I have a fair idea) I’m still pretty nervous, however: I know how much he’s into this stuff. Now I sit back down, transfixed, wearing only a pair black tights over my white panties. A black, strappy top covers my upper body, which is in turn covered by a thin, black, see-through top. I feel exposed but also somewhat aroused and slightly defiant. I won’t let him let him know how nervous I am.
‘Is that all you got? You can’t have been that embarrassed considering how many people saw you drenched.’
He says nothing. We’re both determined not to flinch, thought it’s clear who has the upper hand. Then, as if reading my mind, he speaks again:
‘I wouldn’t make too many more comments like that if I were you,’ he says sneeringly. ‘You’re hardly in a position to be insulting me. If you keep quiet I can make this quick and easy. The more noise you make, the more punishment you receive.’
I shift in my seat, slightly worried by his new proclamation.
‘And don’t worry,’ he goes on, ‘I’ve got enough equipment to keep this going for quite a while.’
Combined with the metal clinking, the last couple of statements set my mind racing again. I know Mike can take offence easily but I can’t have upset him that much. What exactly is he planning for me?
‘Mike?’ I enquire, noticing his absence from my immediate vicinity.
‘Lift you feet please. Not a word’
I open my mouth in protest but stop myself. Slowly I carry out his instruction. The clinking sound again makes me cautious as I hear metal being dragged along the floor near-by.
‘Okay, you can put them back now.’
I move my tight-covered feet back to the floor. Then I realise what the clinking sound was. My big toe makes contact with the surface of a bucket-full of egg yolk.
‘Eww, come on Mike. Don’t make me—’
‘Shh. Get your feet in there. Right in, and keep quiet!’
Remembering the situation I’m in, I sink my right foot in, forcing it to the bottom of the slimy mass of raw egg. Feeling the egg cling to my foot, practically sucking my leg in, makes me cringe. It’s so gooey that I feel my toes wiggling inadvertently and lift my foot back out again. Oops.
‘I try to make this easy for you, but you can’t even follow simple instructions. What am I doing to do with you?’ he asks, mockingly.
‘Both feet in now, and keep them there till I say!’
‘Mike, please don’t do this. I’m sorry!’
I really don’t want to put my feet in the gunk, do I? Or am I just playing along? Maybe if I could see what I was putting my feet into I could decide, but it felt so slimy the first time, I’m fairly sure it was egg. I feel the last little drops run off my foot from the first dunk. Then he interrupts my thought process again:
‘Look Tash, you got yourself into this mess now just do as I say and keep quiet. Don’t make me have to gag you.’
‘You wouldn’t dare,’ I reply, trying to sound brave, like I am playing along after all.
He obviously didn’t buy it. I ready myself again, slowly moving both feet over the bucket this time. I sink the both right in, as fast as I can until they hit the bottom of the bucket. The cool feel of the slime makes me shudder in my seat. I want to take them out, but I know he has worse in-store for me if I do. Instead, I sit here, feeling stupid and slightly embarrassed, not quite sure what to do with myself. There isn’t much I can do to be fair, cuffed to the chair as I am – vulnerable.
‘Wiggle your toes around,’ he demands.
This can be kind of fun in parts, but I really don’t want to be gagged. I reluctantly start to move my toes around the bucket. The yolks permeate my thin tights, and quickly cover my feet. My tights are saturated with thick, gooey egg all the way up to my shins. It feels disgusting and again I shudder at the thought, let alone the feeling. I feel horrible now, not only because of the eggs but because I have no choice in what is going to happen to me. I hate not being in control of things.
‘Look, I won’t tell you again. Next time you talk out of turn, it’s the gag.’
I can tell when Mike’s serious. I shut up, but still, I’m anxious to know what he has in store for me. I wish there was some way to find out. He moves behind me again, hopefully he’ll take the blindfold of but it doesn’t seem very likely. My feet are still in the bucket of what I presume to be egg; the slime has completely seeped through the tights, creating strange soggy feeling as it oozes around my legs and inside the nylon.
‘Right,’ he says, ‘you can leave your feet in there, I hope it feels as nice as you look.’
I open my mouth to say something, but he cuts me off.
I hear more dragging of metal along the floor. He cuffs my ankles back to the chair, but in this new position so my feet remain in the goo.
‘I have three buckets here,’ he says. I’m going to un-cuff one hand and you’re going to put it in each bucket in turn. Without speaking, of course.’
I feel him move round me, and my wrist comes free. It’s such a relief, but I know it’s not over yet. I move my hand about, enjoying the new-found freedom and shaking some feeling back into it. I hear Mike lift a bucket and he rests it on my lap.
‘I wouldn’t move too much if I were you, it’s not very well balanced,’ he advises. ‘Now, we’re going to play a little game. You put your hand in each bucket, being careful not to spill the contents. After you’ve had a good feel around, you will choose two of the three buckets. Any questions?’
‘Well erm… what am I choosing the buckets for exactly?’
He laughs, ‘That would ruin the game now wouldn’t it. Now, in you go.’
I don’t protest this time. Instead, I sink my hand right in to the bucket. It’s much thicker than the eggs round my feet and roughly the same temperature but I can’t quite work out what it is. Maybe custard, but whatever it is, I don’t want to leave my arm in too long. I lift it out again and it oozes gently over my arm and back into the bucket.
Without saying a word he takes away the bucket and brings up number two. Again, I dunk my hand straight in. It’s cold this time, much colder than the last one. It makes me shiver in fact, and the feeling of my legs shivering in the other bucket reminds me how disgusting I feel. It isn’t cold enough to be ice-cream though, and has a very different feel. Jam that’s been kept in the fridge perhaps, it’s sticky enough, maybe even chilled syrup. However, I lift my hand out again, not wanting to dwell longer than necessary.
‘Okay, you seem like you enjoyed that one. Maybe you worked out what they are or maybe you’d like to taste them too? Anyway, here’s the last one,’ he says, swapping the buckets over again. ‘Tell me what you think, taste or not?’
‘No, that’s okay,’ I reply, sarcastically. I trust Mike, but would you really want to eat something you couldn’t see from a metal bucket?
‘Ok, well sink yourself into this one and tell me which you don’t want – One, two or three.’
I sink my arm into the last one and immediately I know what it is.
‘Eww, beans! Mike come on, they’re disgusting!’ I squeal, writhing from the horrible feeling of the cold baked beans.
‘Didn’t I say no talking? I guess it’s time for gagging now.’
‘No come on, this is stupid now. You can’t gag me, please?’ I plead, desperately.
‘Okay, okay. One last chance and I mean it this time. If you can tell me what was in all three buckets, I won’t gag you yet. But if you get one wrong, you get all three buckets instead of just the two I was going to let you chose. If you get two wrong, you get all three buckets, plus the bucket your feet are in as well. If you get them all wrong, it’s the gag and the four buckets. Do we have a deal?’
Like I have much choice, I can’t stand the thought of being gagged.
‘Some deal. Do I get a clue?’
He laughs again. ‘Nice try, Tash, now guess away.’
‘Okay,’ I sigh. ‘Well I think number one was custard.’
‘I’m not going to tell you if you’re right until the end. It’ll be a nice surprise for you,’ says Mike.
‘Hmm, well, number two was jam, no, syrup. And three, three was beans.’
‘Well, you got two right. So that means three buckets for you, hope you like your sweets.’
I don’t dare risk a protest any more, sitting here, resigned to my fate. As he cuffs my hand back down, I begin to wonder exactly what he’s going to do with the buckets, well, no, not exactly, more like where he’s going to pour them. My mind wanders on to which ones I got right, then there’s no more time for it to wander.
I feel his hand pull the front of my outer-top away from my chest slightly, just enough for the corner of the bucket to fit in the gap. Something cold and lumpy hits me; it feels like the beans felt before. The slimy mass flows down the inside of my top, some pooling around my still-soaked cleavage. The chill makes me shiver. Eventually the bucket is emptied, and the beans have almost entirely saturated my top. The black see-through top feels heavy and damp, not very comfortable at all, but now he starts to rub it in. The beans mush together and feel sticky and gross, even through the strappy top I have underneath. I feel horrible, but I know it’s about to get worse. The egg round my feet feels worse than the beans really, they’re just a bit sticky and gooey.
‘Next one, and you’ll really kick yourself for this one,’ he says.
The jam hits my chest with a huge splat. It’s much worse than the beans, so sticky and repulsive. It feels like he just threw it at me, as it begins to ooze oh-so-slowly down the inside of my see-through top and creeps down the front of my strappy black top, too. I feel my nipples harden from the cold, at least I think it’s the cold. It must be the jam, it feels so vile. I swear I’ll get him back for this!
‘And now for the not-quite-finale’
Not quite finale? What the –?
My thought process is stopped again by another sudden chill, this time on the crown on my head. The custard runs down the back of my long brown hair, all the way down my back, collecting in the space between my ass and the chair. My sister will kill me for messing-up that skirt, but that’s the least of my worries. My top half is now completely saturated with the sticky food, my feet and legs are coated in egg-yolk, and custard is starting to seep through the back of my fully-exposed tights. I feel horrible covered in all this gunk and humiliated that I can’t do anything about it. I hate losing control and Mike knows it. I’ll get him back, but for now there’s nothing I can do except sit here, covered in slime.
‘Enjoy that did we? Well we’re not finished yet.’ He’s loving this, but I’m certainly not.
‘What the… Not finished yet?’
‘Not by a long shot,’ he sniggers. ‘We’ve got plenty more fun to have, games to play, people to humiliate. Well, person anyway, but I’d keep quiet if I were you. Remember what I said: speak when spoken-to.’
‘You are speaking to me though!’
‘I was, now I’m talking at you. Just respond to my questions please, nothing more.’ He’s so cocky when he knows I can’t do anything. Just you wait.
‘I must say you’re looking delicious today, by the way. Now, we’re going to play another game. This one has a name: ‘Wheel of Fortune.’ I’m sure you know how it works. My version is a little different though, instead of cash prizes you get forfeits. Understand?’
‘Yes,’ I reply, weakly. What else is there to say? There’s no getting out of this. I can feel the food piled up stodgily around my pert breasts and on the chair beneath me. The jam on my chest suddenly moves and oozes down my stomach in one movement, pooling in my lap on the tights. I must look a complete mess: my hair and back covered in custard, my chest covered in beans and jam, and my lap with a big pool of jam and beans sitting right over my panties. I can feel them beginning to seep through the tights and into my silky white briefs. It’s quite a strange sensation, not wholly unpleasant, but it makes me squirm. I want it off me.
‘Now,’ he says, ‘Shall we begin? In a moment I will unchain your hands and allow you to stand up. We will spin this wheel six times and the forfeits will be performed. After all six spins I will remove your blindfold and chains and you will be free to go. Oh, and remember, no talking unless I ask a question. Got that?’
‘Yes, Mike, just get on with it, okay?’
‘Now-now, calm down. There’s no rush. Keep quiet while I unchain you please.’
My hands suddenly feel all light again as he removes the cuffs. As I stand up, the slop shifts and oozes stodgily down my body, over my legs and to the floor. It leaves trails of slime on my legs that I can feel through the tights, and probably on my top too. Still I can’t move my feet though, or even see where I am but Mike turns me round and puts my hand on some kind of wooden wheel.
‘I made this one a little more interesting for the both of us,’ he chirps up again. ‘The circle is divided into twelve sections; six forfeits, one blue and one pink of each one. If it lands on pink, you get the forfeit, if it lands on blue… well I’m sure you can work it out.’
Now, this is an interesting twist on things. I like where this is headed, maybe a little revenge of my own!
‘Of course, this means I will have to take off your blind-fold so you can see I’m not cheating, but your feet can stay shackled for now. Now I’ve explained the rules, I think it’s only fair to let ladies spin first.’
My eyes hurt and I struggle to focus in the light. It appears that I am indeed in a warehouse of some sort. As the original blur of the light fades, I recognise it as the room behind the club where Mike and I work. I feel much better now I can see and move a little. This new game seems a lot more intriguing and could be a lot of fun, let’s just hope I get lucky. Without further hesitancy, I spin the wheel and hope for the best. It’s pink.
‘Oh, a good one to start us off Tash,’ says Mike in a way too excited voice. ‘It’s called boob job, you can tell It took a lot of imagination to think that up can’t you?’
‘Oh yeah,’ I reply, ‘You’re a real genius Mike. Now what do you want me to do?’ I ask in the most teasing voice I can muster.
‘Well it’s quite simple really. You lift up your top, take off your bra, and I place a pie on each breast.’
No point in wasting time, I lift my top up to reveal a lacy white bra covering my nice, firm breasts (so Mike tells me). Before I know it, he’s behind me, unfastening my bra for me. He slides it off over my arm and drops it to the floor. I look at him, bite my lip and smile seductively. The look on his face is priceless as he picks up two thick looking cream pies. He presses them firmly into either breast, rubbing them slowly round. I can tell exactly what he wants to do, but somehow he controls himself and drops the tins to the floor with a clatter.
Clearing his throat, he speaks again – ‘Ahem, yes. Time to spin again.’
Perhaps he got more than he bargained for, but it’s certainly quite nice to turn the tables on him at last. Who knows, maybe I enjoy both sides of it. Teasing and being teased, this isn’t so bad after all if it wasn’t for the horrible mess around my feet. I spin the wheel again and wait for it to stop. It’s pink again!
‘Oven-bottom-cake,’ declares Mike.
Very clever, I think to myself, sarcastically. I wonder what this could be. Mike is so see-through sometimes. While he goes to get a cake, my mind has time to wander once more. Looking down at my body, I realise how exposed I feel and how messy I look. All I have on is a pair of black tights over my sexiest pair of silky white panties. I wore them just for Mike last night and this is what I get in return? It could have been much worse, I think, a wry smile on my face. Might as well face facts, I’m loving this almost as much as he is now. So many times I’ve been the one teasing him, or tying him up, it feels strangely liberating to be on the other side of it for once. I know there’s nothing I can do except sit here and take his messy abuse, and I love it.
‘I’ve got a nice big one for you Tash.’ Mike’s jokes were never great.
He places a huge cream cake on the chair and beckons me towards it. Obediently I waddle over while he watches me shake my ass in a weak attempt to walk with my legs chained together. After some struggle, I make it to the chair and ready myself. Then, I force my beautifully curved ass down onto the huge cake. Cream spurts every direction, round my crotch and ass. My panties ride up me slightly and It feels like nothing I’ve experienced before, making me tingle wickedly. The feeling of my own juices and panties riding up me, combined with the slime all over me and my own exposed state is really starting to get to me. With six more spins left to go, it’s going to be torturous to hold on.
‘Well, you looked you enjoyed that as much as I did,’ is Mike’s inevitable “humorous” comment.
‘You know what, Mike? I think I did, why don’t you come over here?’
‘Nice try, Tash, but you still have four spins left, now get that gorgeous ass of yours over here.’
I waddle back over to the wheel, Mike perving over my every movement as ever. Surely it’ll be blue sooner or later, I think as I spin the wheel once more. Ah, there we go.
‘Hmm, well it seems I get a fairly easy one. Although I’m sure you’ll take some enjoyment from it. This one’s called upside-down cake. Basically, you get to upturn a cake over my head.’
‘Here you go,’ he says, handing me a cake identical to the one I just got out of. Huge and cream-covered, it’s time to mess his lovely neck-length hair up. I don’t pause for a second. I upend the cake over his head and let the whole thing fall to the ground around him. It covers the top of his head and the whole of his shoulders. He speaks from somewhere beneath the layer of cream covering his face: ‘Spin again.’
Obediently, I do as he says. It lands on pink and this time I read it out myself.
‘Pretty straight forward,’ he laughs. ‘You get a pie down the front of your knickers. This one should do’
He picks up another huge cream-pie and sidles over to me. He grabs my ass then moves his hand round to open the front of my panties. After taking a good look inside, he forces the pie in and let’s go of the waistband. The panties snap back into place, pushing more cream into places it shouldn’t really be, and making me have to bite my lip again. I can’t take much more of this
‘Ah-ah, this is punishment. You’re not supposed to enjoy it.’
It’s almost as if he can read my mind. He gropes my ass and moves his hand between my legs, I long for him to move it inside me but he doesn’t. He winks at me, looks me up and down and then motions towards the wheel again. I rub his groin with the palm of my hand briefly, before I spin the wheel this time. I can tell he’s enjoying this too.
It comes up blue this time.
‘Sticky knickers, I was really hoping you’d get this one but never mind.’
‘Oh I’m going to enjoy this one, I’m sure you will too though, Mike,’ I reply. ‘Now what have you got for me?’
He hands me a box of a dozen eggs, sighing. I tell him to turn round, and pick up a bowl that he has amongst his other condiments. Quickly, I break all twelve into the bowl and, picking the bowl up in one hand, I embrace him from behind. Then I slowly open the front of his trousers and his boxers with the other hand and tip the whole bowl right in there. I enjoy feeling him jerk as the cold hits him, at least I get some revenge today. Just to add insult to injury, I make sure I rub it ever-so-gently into his twitching bulge, feeling his body jerk once more.
‘Spin again,’ he says, flatly, trying to pretend nothing’s happening to his libido. I know Mike though and I giggle to myself a little. I spin the wheel for a sixth and final time and amazingly enough, it lands on pink again. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mike has rigged this in some way but never mind – not much I can do about it anyway.
‘Ah yes, strawberry bobbing,’ he says. ‘ A fitting finale if I say so myself. I’ve been rather looking forward to this one, quite proud of it in fact,’ he says.
‘I bet you have. So what have you got in store for me this time Mike?’ is my reply.
‘Well you’ve heard of apple bobbing, I’m sure. This is my variation of it, using strawberries, obviously. And yoghurt instead of water.’
After saying that, he disappears through the door for a moment then brings back a small inflatable pool with him, filled to brim with strawberry yoghurt. Dotted around its surface are a few little red strawberries. He then proceeds to pick up the cuffs that were on my hands earlier and move back over to me.
‘We wouldn’t want you cheating, so I’m going to make sure you can’t use your hands.’
‘Um, okay, I guess,’ I say in reply.
Mike then takes my arms and moves them behind me. He cuffs my hands together in the same way you see Policemen do it on TV. He then moves to the opposite side of the pool before completing his instructions to me.
‘Right, Tash, you have thirty seconds to pick out at least ten strawberries. If you should fail this task, there will of course be a forfeit.’
‘And what would that be?’ I ask.
‘Well there’s an awful lot of yoghurt here, would be a shame to waste it.’
With that, I get down on my tight-clothed knees beside the pool. There’s easily more than twenty strawberries in there, but I hate to get my face wet, let alone messy, and the fact that I can’t use my hands isn’t going to help. Oh well, here we go. Mike starts to count down for me.
‘Three, two, one, go!’
I start by going for the ones nearest to me, on the surface of the yoghurt. I get a little on my chin, but only manage to get two berries this way and time is running out. I get another one, but I can sense that three isn’t enough compared to the time passed. Nothing else for it, I bury my head right into the thick yoghurt. It feels slimy and incredibly sticky on my face, but I go on with it anyway. It’s kind of fun to play around, and I want to beat Mike of course.
‘Ten seconds left.’
I come up from my latest foray but I still only have six berries. I’m going to have to redouble my efforts if I want to have any chance of completing this task. This time, I practically dive into the stuff, burying my face right to the bottom. I feel another couple of berries near my face and go for them. I get two in my mouth and come up, gasping for air.
Shit, that’s only eight and I can’t see any more near to me. Only one thing for it now I guess.
I dive headlong into the pool, covering damn near my entire body with the thick, sticky yoghurt. There’s three seconds left, but I hit the jackpot this time. I pull out, covered in the gooey liquid with two more berries and spit them into the pile with the others, just as Mike says zero. This gives me a total of ten berries but a total covering of strawberry yoghurt. When I say total, I mean total. Barely an inch of my body is visible beneath the pinky-white liquid. It’s incredibly thick and really slows my movement as I look up towards Mike to see what he has to say next.
‘You did very well,’ he says trying not to laugh. ‘And you managed to finish just in the nick of time. You certainly look a state, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re free to go.’
‘I don’t have any clean clothes. What am I going to do?’
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ he replies. ‘My house is just next door, you just have to walk up the street.’
‘I will get you back for this, you know that, right?’
‘Good luck,’ he says smugly. And with that, he walks out of the door of The Darley. ‘See you at home.’