by sol84 » 30 Oct 2006, 15:53
No apologies if OTT, suspect wont offend Hayley, but if does - or anyone else - please keep in mind I only wish we could trade places!
Staying with the theme, Hayley needs to be dined into the Mess - this is a military tradition - if somewhat hijacked for purpose!
In uniform you are required to attend the officers mess at 7 pm for 7.30. About two dozen dashing - for which read filthy minded perverts - young officers await you - along with 6 female officers and two old generals - balding, fat and moustashed.
In the ante room you are made to stand on a table and your uniform inspected - WRAC regs state stockings must be worn - so your skirt is hoisted. The stockings are fine - but regs say nothing about knickers, so off they come.
YOu are marched into the dining room and take your place on the top table - that is on the top table, not at it. A chair is sat on the table top for you. Eager hands help you into your seat - positioned so that the whole room can see you.
Rule number one - you must not touch the silver wear. The general proclaims - jungle rules. Each person picks up food with their hands and feeds the person to their left. A young officer stands beside you and proceeds to serve you the chicken soup by hand - or rather smear it over your face. Things get worse as the soup flows done into your cleavage - the poor young man shakes so much you get coated from hair to navel in rapidly chilling chicken soup.
A salmon mouse follows - mostly into your cleavage.
Then the main course - mash potato, gravy, mushy peas and mince. The gentleman is in no state to continue, so a female officer steps up. With the whisper of 'bitch', she makes no pretence to feed you and a thorough shampoo, facial and boob rub with the main course follows.
Thoroughout, you have been plied with sherry, wine and several pints of lager. Now an hour into the dinner, your bladder is at full stretch. But no one may leave the table for any reason until the general rises. Increased wriggling on your part warns the woman officer and she efficiently ties your hands to the arms of the chair to prevent a social faux paux.
10 minutes is the most you can last. As you receive a very thorough ear filling with lumpy gravy, the flow starts and quickly a stream of pee floods out from your skirt. The rubber keeps back a pint or so and you are left sitting in a puddle of pee.
Sweet follows - a chocolate cake with cream. Your bowl is carefully placed over your head and quished down. Your shoes are removed and filled with left overs, then firmly replaced.
Dinner over, port and cigars follow. Finally the tables are cleared and the final signal is the emptying of the astrays over your head.
THe President rises and takes complaints from the floor - anyone having spotted social/ ettiquette transgressions making accusation - which if not well defended results in a punishment - often a drink forfeit. This follows - but with the proviso that the guilty party then repay the fluid loss - by mounting the top table and weeing over you.
The the games begin. It is decided that you need to be able to take part, so the female officers hose you down with soda. Having little effect you are removed to the kitchen and dumped in a plastic bin of dish water and given a clothd scrubbing. Still dripping suds and food residue you are marched back to the dining room.
A game of aircraft carrier is under way. Here several tables are greased with butter. Jackets are removed and shirts greased. The object is to dive on the table and slide as far as possible. Whilst two women hold you still, the two fat generals take it upon themselves to teach you how to play. This appears to involve plenty of wiskery kisses, whilst flabby hands work packets of butter into your breasts, down your legs and very intimately up between your legs.
Your attempt degenerates into little more than being dragged along a greasy table whilst all take a swipe at your bottom as you pass.
Rupert - a major shouts that you would be better with a water landing - to be met by a huge cheer from the crowd.
You are restrained in a corner by female officers as the tables are arranged in front of a set of french doors. With attention diverted, you are taken wholly by surprise as one girl officer begins to kiss you passionately as a second runs her hand under your skirt and firmly inserts her thumb into you whilst teasing your clitoris with her fingers.
YOu are so close to cumming when they stop and hands carry you back to the tables - which now lead out through the french windows.
They speed you along - to yet more slaps on the bottom and out the windows. A second before you are literally airborne, you see the light glinting off the ornamental pond - then in you go head first. The pond is rank and full of green weed. You come up spluttering only to find the audience looking disappointed. The pond water has left you looking, if not feeling relatively clean.
Two volunteers are requested and your lesbian friends jump at the chance - eager hand push them in the pond to hold you in and give you a proper bath in green slime and goo from the bottom - combined with some very intimate groping.
Meanwhile the officers form a que by an adjacent flower bed - freshly turned and manured. THe other female officers are pushed onto the flower bed and proceed to stuff dirt down the trousers of the officers - who run to the two generals and drop the soil for them to pick up and throw at the three of you in the pond. The water turns dark and very smelly quickly, then slushy and finally to a runny mud. The girls from the flower bed are carried over and dumped in the slurry with you. With the men crowded round, the women all gang up on you and you are used everywhich way. The men start to wee onto you as the girls writhe about.
You are held spreadeagled - a muddy muff is pressed into your face as hands tweak your nipples. Your vagina is packed with warming mud and your clit mercilessly teased - always short of cumming. The 6 girls rotate, forcing you to bring them to climax. Finally an end is called - without you having cum.
You are carried to a pallet cage and placed inside - your wrists and ankles fastened to the mesh. The officers begin to depart - as they do so you are pelted with balloons filled with beer, flour, glue, wee, paint.
It is two hours later that the cleaners arrive. They pull out a pressure washer and you spend an hour being sprayed with soapy water. Finally freed you wobble - to be caught by strong hands. THe Sgt Major - a fat, smelly bloke with a fag in mouth holds you. 'YOu OK Miss?' You nod weakly. 'Good, we can use my quarters to get you cleaned up - we wont be disturbed all day... then I can escort you to the Sgts Mess function this evening.....'
So - let that be a lesson to you!
Superb story, I really enjoyed it and I could tell itd be right up Hayleys street. If only I could write so well...
