Hayley wrote:
If it is VERY rude then maybe it should be a PM but otherwise do your worst!
If it is very rude then there are no doubt lots of people who would like to read it.
Us included.
Let Hayley Have It!
by Spinynorman and Frilly » 02 Jun 2007, 15:39
If it is very rude then there are no doubt lots of people who would like to read it.
Us included.
Kind regards, Spinynorman and Frilly
Still messing about after all these years!
Still messing about after all these years!
-
Spinynorman and Frilly - Posts: 1601 [ View ]
- Joined: 14 May 2006, 14:22
- Location: In the bath.
by Squelch » 02 Jun 2007, 22:13
Okay...as we've started another page of the thread, here's my story again with the short 'n saucy ending 
To let you have it good and proper I’d make sure you were wearing one of your nicest grey business suits with all the trimmings. Taking your red lipstick I’d draw some squiggles on your back and make out it was a giant cock and balls before stapling your lapels together (to stop you taking the jacket off) and ordering you down the local shop for final provisions.
Once back, and feeling suitably embarrassed (I wouldn’t want you to get into real trouble of course) your sploshing would begin. I’d start by filling your leather slip on shoes with soft spread before squishing your stockinged feet back into them. Then I’d sit you down in a plain wooden chair and tie your hands behind your back. With head held high, your food shower would begin. Everything over the head and face and definitely no clean-ups in between courses! Smelly cold soup, mushy peas, rice pudding, meatballs in gravy and spaghetti hoops all from catering sized tins of course. Then ketchup and custard and a slimy margarine, strawberry jam and boot polish shampoo to finish. A litre of vegetable oil over the head and another dusting of flour completes the ‘fucked up’ look.
Now I’d leave you for half an hour to stew whilst I went for a cuppa and finished preparing ‘the vat.’
Untied and bent over the back of the chair, your skirt would be whisked up and those knickers packed with skinned plum tomatoes, baked beans and used tea bags (well it’s something different isn’t it!?)The fanny-packing wedgie which would follow would be nothing compared to the ‘six of the best’ smacks across your bare arse cheeks which would leave them in desperate need of a cooling ointment – but not just yet!
Stood up, I’d roughly rip apart the stapled lapels of your once pristine suit jacket, do something similar with your silk blouse and ease out your boobs to let them hang rudely over the front of your bra.
Now for the vat! In comes a 10 gallon drum with contents so heavy that I’d need a porter’s trolley to wheel it into the room. It would have a helpful label on the side to read:
‘Warning. Only to be administered in large doses to really filthy gunge pigs. Contents: Thick porridge (one bucketful). Black house paint (one large tin). Ketchup (one catering sized tub). Gelatinised used cooking oils (one gallon). Flour (3 bags). Rotten eggs (3 dozen) Chimney soot (one bag) Vaseline (2 tubs) Dog food (5 tins of ‘Meaty chunks and tripe’…yum yum!)’
And it fucking stinks. I’d probably be wearing rubber gloves and from your feet up, I would slowly plaster your whole body in the thick black clag. Shoes and feet to start with, then stockinged legs and of course concentrating on that hot bot. The once pristine grey suit would be transformed into a cloying rag and you will never know whether or not you walked down the main street with a big cock and balls drawn on your back.
Then your boobs would get the treatment from my filthy rubber hands. Every scrap of clean clothing and bare skin from the neck down would get the smelly black gunge. Now for your head. Handful after handful of glop would be shampooed into your hair, filling your ears, nose and eyes. What a foul sight you would be.
With garden shears, I’d snip and hack away at your tattered clothes until with a final cut, your panties would plop to the floor. You would then be ordered to scrape the really greasy dregs from the drum and make sure that every square inch of flesh was a uniform greasy black. Then I’d leave the room.
......................
I’d return carrying your new cream coloured wool trouser suit, matching satin underwear, blouse and high heels. Put it on right now or I cut it into ribbons in front of you would be my ultimatum. Ruining each item as you picked it up, you’d pull the whole outfit on to your filthy body. I’d then completely fuck the suit by roughly painting it with a mix of red gloss and glue. Using dressmakers scissors I’d cut the arse right out of it leaving it looking like an outrageous stripper’s costume.
With an industrial sized roll of clingfilm I’d then wrap you up from head to toe, giving you a piece of hose pipe to breathe through, and seal you up with parcel tape. Down on your hands and knees, bottom in the air, I’d tie you again to the upended chair and carefully cut (I would be careful honest!) a strip of the polythene down your bum crack and snip off your knickers.
From the freezer would come two large, very solid and very realistic white dildo’s. But these wouldn’t be just ordinary dildo’s. These would be made from pure lard. It would be my pleasure to make sure you had the greasiest, sweatiest filthiest fucking orgasm possible and with fanny and butt well and truly plugged I’d untie you and just leave you to slide round on the floor until the grease melted away.
xx
To let you have it good and proper I’d make sure you were wearing one of your nicest grey business suits with all the trimmings. Taking your red lipstick I’d draw some squiggles on your back and make out it was a giant cock and balls before stapling your lapels together (to stop you taking the jacket off) and ordering you down the local shop for final provisions.
Once back, and feeling suitably embarrassed (I wouldn’t want you to get into real trouble of course) your sploshing would begin. I’d start by filling your leather slip on shoes with soft spread before squishing your stockinged feet back into them. Then I’d sit you down in a plain wooden chair and tie your hands behind your back. With head held high, your food shower would begin. Everything over the head and face and definitely no clean-ups in between courses! Smelly cold soup, mushy peas, rice pudding, meatballs in gravy and spaghetti hoops all from catering sized tins of course. Then ketchup and custard and a slimy margarine, strawberry jam and boot polish shampoo to finish. A litre of vegetable oil over the head and another dusting of flour completes the ‘fucked up’ look.
Now I’d leave you for half an hour to stew whilst I went for a cuppa and finished preparing ‘the vat.’
Untied and bent over the back of the chair, your skirt would be whisked up and those knickers packed with skinned plum tomatoes, baked beans and used tea bags (well it’s something different isn’t it!?)The fanny-packing wedgie which would follow would be nothing compared to the ‘six of the best’ smacks across your bare arse cheeks which would leave them in desperate need of a cooling ointment – but not just yet!
Stood up, I’d roughly rip apart the stapled lapels of your once pristine suit jacket, do something similar with your silk blouse and ease out your boobs to let them hang rudely over the front of your bra.
Now for the vat! In comes a 10 gallon drum with contents so heavy that I’d need a porter’s trolley to wheel it into the room. It would have a helpful label on the side to read:
‘Warning. Only to be administered in large doses to really filthy gunge pigs. Contents: Thick porridge (one bucketful). Black house paint (one large tin). Ketchup (one catering sized tub). Gelatinised used cooking oils (one gallon). Flour (3 bags). Rotten eggs (3 dozen) Chimney soot (one bag) Vaseline (2 tubs) Dog food (5 tins of ‘Meaty chunks and tripe’…yum yum!)’
And it fucking stinks. I’d probably be wearing rubber gloves and from your feet up, I would slowly plaster your whole body in the thick black clag. Shoes and feet to start with, then stockinged legs and of course concentrating on that hot bot. The once pristine grey suit would be transformed into a cloying rag and you will never know whether or not you walked down the main street with a big cock and balls drawn on your back.
Then your boobs would get the treatment from my filthy rubber hands. Every scrap of clean clothing and bare skin from the neck down would get the smelly black gunge. Now for your head. Handful after handful of glop would be shampooed into your hair, filling your ears, nose and eyes. What a foul sight you would be.
With garden shears, I’d snip and hack away at your tattered clothes until with a final cut, your panties would plop to the floor. You would then be ordered to scrape the really greasy dregs from the drum and make sure that every square inch of flesh was a uniform greasy black. Then I’d leave the room.
......................
I’d return carrying your new cream coloured wool trouser suit, matching satin underwear, blouse and high heels. Put it on right now or I cut it into ribbons in front of you would be my ultimatum. Ruining each item as you picked it up, you’d pull the whole outfit on to your filthy body. I’d then completely fuck the suit by roughly painting it with a mix of red gloss and glue. Using dressmakers scissors I’d cut the arse right out of it leaving it looking like an outrageous stripper’s costume.
With an industrial sized roll of clingfilm I’d then wrap you up from head to toe, giving you a piece of hose pipe to breathe through, and seal you up with parcel tape. Down on your hands and knees, bottom in the air, I’d tie you again to the upended chair and carefully cut (I would be careful honest!) a strip of the polythene down your bum crack and snip off your knickers.
From the freezer would come two large, very solid and very realistic white dildo’s. But these wouldn’t be just ordinary dildo’s. These would be made from pure lard. It would be my pleasure to make sure you had the greasiest, sweatiest filthiest fucking orgasm possible and with fanny and butt well and truly plugged I’d untie you and just leave you to slide round on the floor until the grease melted away.
xx
by dougiezerts » 03 Jun 2007, 16:03
I have a simple little request: Would you be willing to be barefooted, during a Splosh session? Doesn't matter what you wallow in, so long as your feet are bare.
If you wanna feel extasy
You've got to get down and dirty!
Get into the mudbeat!
You've got to get down and dirty!
Get into the mudbeat!
- dougiezerts
- Posts: 250 [ View ]
- Joined: 08 May 2006, 02:34
- Location: Silver Spring, MD
by Hayley » 04 Jun 2007, 10:41
Mmmmm...lard dildos! Works for me.
However since you have been soooooo nice to me, surely there is something I can do for you in my disgusting state? How about dipping your real 'dildo' in lard and pumping the one hole that is still empty - with me sucking away, of course!
Hayley
PS Whilst I am sure plenty of people would be happy to do barefoot pics dougiezerts, I am not one. I have horrible, huge feet and am thoroughly ashamed of them! Sorry.
However since you have been soooooo nice to me, surely there is something I can do for you in my disgusting state? How about dipping your real 'dildo' in lard and pumping the one hole that is still empty - with me sucking away, of course!
Hayley
PS Whilst I am sure plenty of people would be happy to do barefoot pics dougiezerts, I am not one. I have horrible, huge feet and am thoroughly ashamed of them! Sorry.
by Squelch » 04 Jun 2007, 22:22
Hayley wrote:However since you have been soooooo nice to me, surely there is something I can do for you in my disgusting state? How about dipping your real 'dildo' in lard and pumping the one hole that is still empty - with me sucking away, of course!
It'd be rude not to
by dougiezerts » 05 Jun 2007, 02:51
Hayley, I believe that ALL women have pretty feet; you'd be no exception!
If you wanna feel extasy
You've got to get down and dirty!
Get into the mudbeat!
You've got to get down and dirty!
Get into the mudbeat!
- dougiezerts
- Posts: 250 [ View ]
- Joined: 08 May 2006, 02:34
- Location: Silver Spring, MD
by Etonman » 06 Jun 2007, 10:31
[quote="
Then I’d sit you down in a plain wooden chair and tie your hands behind your back. With head held high, your food shower would begin. Everything over the head and face and definitely no clean-ups in between courses! Smelly cold soup, mushy peas, rice pudding, meatballs in gravy and spaghetti hoops all from catering sized tins of course. Then ketchup and custard and a slimy margarine, strawberry jam and boot polish shampoo to finish. A litre of vegetable oil over the head and another dusting of flour completes the ‘fucked up’ look.
xx[/quote]
Great description of a messy shampoo....good "conditioning" treatment for the hair, Hayley?
Then I’d sit you down in a plain wooden chair and tie your hands behind your back. With head held high, your food shower would begin. Everything over the head and face and definitely no clean-ups in between courses! Smelly cold soup, mushy peas, rice pudding, meatballs in gravy and spaghetti hoops all from catering sized tins of course. Then ketchup and custard and a slimy margarine, strawberry jam and boot polish shampoo to finish. A litre of vegetable oil over the head and another dusting of flour completes the ‘fucked up’ look.
xx[/quote]
Great description of a messy shampoo....good "conditioning" treatment for the hair, Hayley?
by Lukeybaby » 15 Jul 2008, 17:04
Ok so... You turn up at my front door in a fine knee-length white dress, the first three buttons left undone to reveal the cleavage of your large, pert breasts. I invite you in, and you are keen to enter since you know that my flat-mates are all out for the weekend, and we have three days together, alone. What you don't know, is that I have arranged a surprise...
Instead of leading you into the living room for a drink and a snuggle on the sofa, I grin, take you by the hand and walk upstairs in the direction of my bedroom. Except, it doesn't look like you remember it (And you should remember it well). There is now plastic tarpaulin covering the floor, from wall to wall, and a large white sheet covering something in the middle of the room. Along the back wall are an array of coloured plastic builder's buckets, sealed with makeshift lids.
You look at me in surprise, questioning, but I say nothing and grin. Closing the door behind us, I walk over to the large covered object and whip the sheet off with a flourish to reveal a sturdy wooden pillory, padlocked on one side. You squeal, half with delight and half in nervous apprehension. Gently, I take your hands in mine and kiss you.
How could I have known of your fetish you wonder, you had kept it secret from me but somehow I knew... You're glad I discovered your secret though as I walk you over to the wooden contraption, unlock it and raise the top section. You smile nervously as you place your wrists in the grooves to the edges, and lay your neck on the middle one. I replace the top section and lock it. The holes are the perfect size for your hands and your head, as you can't pull either through the holes. You have to trust me completely.
You are bent over in the stocks, your head facing down and your perfectly shaped bottom raised in the air, covered only by a thin pair of cotton panties and your pretty dress. You have no idea what's coming next, but just the thought of getting messy brings a steadily growing damp patch to the crotch of your underwear. From your position in the stocks you can't see behind you, and you can see precious little of whats in front of you either as your hair hangs down, obscuring your vision. You see me only at crotch height as I walk round to the front again and suddenly you feel the thick gooey liquid pouring over the back of your head.
It cascades down over your head, swamping your gorgeous hair and dripping on the floor in front. You can see now that it's some kind of green gunge, opaque and thick, with the consistency and viscosity of runny custard. Indeed, as it flows over your face you catch a taste of it as you can't help it running into your open mouth. It tastes a little like custard and you decide that is what it must be. As the flow of the goo recedes and the muck stays clinging to your hair and face, I return again and splatter a thick creamy pie in your face, rubbing it and peeling the plate off before doing it again and again, using twelve pies in all.
The white cream clings to your face, and your are forced to keep your eyes shut. You feel me wipe some of the cream away, and kiss your lips once, quite roughly.
From your position you can't see me pick up another bucket and upend it above your head. This time the contents are cold and it pours faster over your bowed head, dripping off you face and making spattering noises on the covered floor. You recognise this taste as tomato sauce, and surely enough a single baked bean slithers down over your face, to rest above your lip. Another follows, then another, then another, beans cascading over your face, floor-bound.
Before you can catch your breath another bucket is upended, spilling something you can only guess is melted icecream over your head, contrasting with the beans to make your head greasy. Another bucket is poured over you, and you begin to shake your head in an effort to dislodge some of the horrible gunk. This time the mess is a foul mixture of waste foods, blended to produce a horrible smelly thick muck which slowly oozes all over your head.
Then, respite. By now, you're private parts are dripping, aching and you're almost begging me to fuck you, right there in the stocks. Sure, you're humiliated a little by the dousing you've just recieved, but god knows how much you love it!
You feel my hands on your back. Slowly I reach beneath you and begin to unbutton your dress. Your breasts, now unfettered by the material of your dress hang down, nipples hard, goosepimples surrounding them. They feel firm and warm as I cup them and press my own, still clothed body, to your, still clothed bottom.
I let go of your boobs, and remove my hands, only to bring two pies made of cold whipped cream rapidly against them again. The coldness shocks you and you take a deep breath as I rub the cream against your chest, and gently rub your nipples with a moistened forefinger.
You feel your skirt lifted, as I expose your pantied bottom. You spread your legs as wide as you can, and I pull down your knickers with an expert hand. Your bum and pussy are visible to me now. With no warning I splatter pie after pie of cold cream and custard over your bum, rubbing the mess into your crack and spreading the cream all over your thighs. Then, I turn my attention to your most intemate area, taking handfuls of whipped cream and massaging them into your fanny. The cream mixes with your own juices and drips down your inner thighs, all the way down to your ankles in thin white streaks. You moan with pleasure as I rub the cream all over you, and move to play with your clitoris, before gently inserting two fingers, in search of your G-Spot.
The rest is up to you...
I hope that wasn't too explicit. And er sorry it was so long I got a bit carried away. But I hope you like it!
Instead of leading you into the living room for a drink and a snuggle on the sofa, I grin, take you by the hand and walk upstairs in the direction of my bedroom. Except, it doesn't look like you remember it (And you should remember it well). There is now plastic tarpaulin covering the floor, from wall to wall, and a large white sheet covering something in the middle of the room. Along the back wall are an array of coloured plastic builder's buckets, sealed with makeshift lids.
You look at me in surprise, questioning, but I say nothing and grin. Closing the door behind us, I walk over to the large covered object and whip the sheet off with a flourish to reveal a sturdy wooden pillory, padlocked on one side. You squeal, half with delight and half in nervous apprehension. Gently, I take your hands in mine and kiss you.
How could I have known of your fetish you wonder, you had kept it secret from me but somehow I knew... You're glad I discovered your secret though as I walk you over to the wooden contraption, unlock it and raise the top section. You smile nervously as you place your wrists in the grooves to the edges, and lay your neck on the middle one. I replace the top section and lock it. The holes are the perfect size for your hands and your head, as you can't pull either through the holes. You have to trust me completely.
You are bent over in the stocks, your head facing down and your perfectly shaped bottom raised in the air, covered only by a thin pair of cotton panties and your pretty dress. You have no idea what's coming next, but just the thought of getting messy brings a steadily growing damp patch to the crotch of your underwear. From your position in the stocks you can't see behind you, and you can see precious little of whats in front of you either as your hair hangs down, obscuring your vision. You see me only at crotch height as I walk round to the front again and suddenly you feel the thick gooey liquid pouring over the back of your head.
It cascades down over your head, swamping your gorgeous hair and dripping on the floor in front. You can see now that it's some kind of green gunge, opaque and thick, with the consistency and viscosity of runny custard. Indeed, as it flows over your face you catch a taste of it as you can't help it running into your open mouth. It tastes a little like custard and you decide that is what it must be. As the flow of the goo recedes and the muck stays clinging to your hair and face, I return again and splatter a thick creamy pie in your face, rubbing it and peeling the plate off before doing it again and again, using twelve pies in all.
The white cream clings to your face, and your are forced to keep your eyes shut. You feel me wipe some of the cream away, and kiss your lips once, quite roughly.
From your position you can't see me pick up another bucket and upend it above your head. This time the contents are cold and it pours faster over your bowed head, dripping off you face and making spattering noises on the covered floor. You recognise this taste as tomato sauce, and surely enough a single baked bean slithers down over your face, to rest above your lip. Another follows, then another, then another, beans cascading over your face, floor-bound.
Before you can catch your breath another bucket is upended, spilling something you can only guess is melted icecream over your head, contrasting with the beans to make your head greasy. Another bucket is poured over you, and you begin to shake your head in an effort to dislodge some of the horrible gunk. This time the mess is a foul mixture of waste foods, blended to produce a horrible smelly thick muck which slowly oozes all over your head.
Then, respite. By now, you're private parts are dripping, aching and you're almost begging me to fuck you, right there in the stocks. Sure, you're humiliated a little by the dousing you've just recieved, but god knows how much you love it!
You feel my hands on your back. Slowly I reach beneath you and begin to unbutton your dress. Your breasts, now unfettered by the material of your dress hang down, nipples hard, goosepimples surrounding them. They feel firm and warm as I cup them and press my own, still clothed body, to your, still clothed bottom.
I let go of your boobs, and remove my hands, only to bring two pies made of cold whipped cream rapidly against them again. The coldness shocks you and you take a deep breath as I rub the cream against your chest, and gently rub your nipples with a moistened forefinger.
You feel your skirt lifted, as I expose your pantied bottom. You spread your legs as wide as you can, and I pull down your knickers with an expert hand. Your bum and pussy are visible to me now. With no warning I splatter pie after pie of cold cream and custard over your bum, rubbing the mess into your crack and spreading the cream all over your thighs. Then, I turn my attention to your most intemate area, taking handfuls of whipped cream and massaging them into your fanny. The cream mixes with your own juices and drips down your inner thighs, all the way down to your ankles in thin white streaks. You moan with pleasure as I rub the cream all over you, and move to play with your clitoris, before gently inserting two fingers, in search of your G-Spot.
The rest is up to you...
I hope that wasn't too explicit. And er sorry it was so long I got a bit carried away. But I hope you like it!
by stonecastle » 16 Jul 2008, 20:45
Hayley I send you to cook pudding for 20 splosh models. Unfortunatly the girls think your cooking is vile and they get revenge by putting you in the stocks and take it in turns to chew a mouthful of the pudding before spitting it into your face. By the end of it your whole head and top half are completly caked in a disgusting mixture of spit and pudding.
- stonecastle
- Posts: 375 [ View ]
- Joined: 13 Nov 2006, 21:31
by splat182002 » 16 Jul 2008, 22:49
stonecastle wrote:Hayley I send you to cook pudding for 20 splosh models. Unfortunatly the girls think your cooking is vile and they get revenge by putting you in the stocks and take it in turns to chew a mouthful of the pudding before spitting it into your face. By the end of it your whole head and top half are completly caked in a disgusting mixture of spit and pudding.
There must be more out than in
I want to get messy and muddy
- splat182002
- Posts: 99 [ View ]
- Joined: 07 Oct 2006, 23:07
- Location: birmingham, uk
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