4 comments/ 81469 views/ 2 favorites Over My Head Ch. 01 By: wamslave1 I had known all my life that I was into WAM before I knew there was a word for it. Let me explain something before I get into it: WAM is nothing to do with the campy 1980s pop duo of George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley. WAM stands for Wet And Messy, and refers to the fetish of being aroused by oneself or other people being, well, wet and/or messy. By messy I don't mean bodily waste products, although I gather there are some extremists who are into that stuff. The mess itself can be anything from mud to cake batter, via paint, ketchup, porridge, syrup, shaving foam...you get the idea. A silly fetish, as I'm sure you'd agree, but what fetish isn't a bit bizarre when viewed from the outside? People who are sexually attracted to other people's feet look as weird to me as I'm sure I do to you. I can't remember a time I didn't find it sexy. I can remember that I started off in my teens, when I was left alone in the house, covering my face with shaving cream except for a tiny, almost imperceptible gap over one eye, so that I could see my reflection, and how I looked with my head a white fluffy mass. It never failed to get me excited. Some people do WAM for the laugh, but there exists a hardcore of us for whom it's the most piercingly erotic thing we can do or have done to ourselves. I'm one of them. In my daily life I actually steer clear of things like charity pie-fights or gungings. I don't want people to see how turned on I get by being hit in the face with a pie, or covered from head to foot in green sludge. It's not something I've shared very successfully with my girlfriends, either. I know there are women out there who go moist at the prospect of a faceful of custard, but I've never met one, unfortunately. Up until the incident I want to tell you about, I had been a self-wammer all my life. I progressed in my early experiments from shaving cream to flour-and-water paste - big mistake. The flour and water turns to gooey little crumbs that lodge in your hair and are almost impossible to shower off. Oh yeah, we serious wammers don't confine ourselves to being hit in the face. For many of us, full body coverage is essential. I would sit naked in the bathtub, opposite the mirror, and pour the sludge over myself and feel it trickling into every nook and cranny of my body and sigh with pleasure. Imagine my surprise and delight when I found there was a whole realm of the internet dedicated just to pleasures such as that. It ran the gamut from innocent student prankishness to full-on XXX messy porn. I had never dreamed that other people shared this fetish. I had discovered at long last that I was not alone; that there was no only a name for wanting to get covered in gooey slime but, even more impressively, there was an industry devoted to catering for people who wanted to look at other people getting covered in gooey slime. It was a great feeling. I learned a lot. I learned that flour and water had been tested by others and found wanting, and that good old shaving cream is held in high esteem (not least for the fact that it's so easy to wash off). And I began to spend more time in the Baking section of the supermarket, trying out the various cake mixes and tinned custards and other lovely things on offer. Not to eat, you understand; I don't actually like cake or custard or sweet things. I was interested in their opacity, stickiness, rate of flow, all of which are only to be experienced when the stuff is in its raw state. Faced with a box of Betty Crocker Devil's Food Cake Mix, I wouldn't think Mmm, that would be yummy to have after dinner. I would think, I bet that could make me really filthy. I developed newer and more elaborate ways of messing myself. I would time my sessions to prolong them, force myself to wait before washing off the various goos and sludges I had covered my naked body with. The temptation, when you're that messed up, is to go straight for the climax, but the preparation is so time-consuming - you've got to buy all that stuff and spend ages mixing it to the right consistency, and then lay down sheets of plastic all over the floor of the room you're gonna use, and then make sure you've got enough soap and shampoo to wash it all off afterwards - that you may as well make the thing last as long as possible. I chatted to other wammers over the internet. There was a housewife in Reno who loved to get naked in her bathtub when everyone else was at school or work, and pie herself. There was a Scottish girl guitar player who was even more outrŽ than me in the stuff she put herself through. There was the guy who was obsessed with thongs; he and I had cybersex, my first time with another man, and even while he was deluging me with pies and preparing to fuck me, I think he was secretly waiting for the moment when he could rip down my virtual thong. But I still hadn't ever physically done this with anyone. I posted personals on internet boards, advertising myself as a "gungebuddy" to gay men. Although I consider myself straight, I didn't mind the thought of being with another guy; after all, we would have WAM in common if nothing else. Some of the pictures of men I'd seen on the net were as arousing as anything else out there, and it had been easier to put myself in the guy's place. However, it was pretty academic because nobody took me up on the offer. A time came, then, when I was sick of never wamming with anybody else, and I started to read the personals myself, looking for someone who might want a partner. Most of it sounded too picky. They wanted women, almost invariably, and the few men who posted were usually looking for someone barely out of his teens (I'm 27) and shaved (I'm not, although my hair is short). Then one night I saw a message on the board of one of the many WAM groups: Discreet, fit bi couple (40-45) seek WAM partner (m/f) for 3some fun and frolics. Under 35 and slender build preferable, must be OK with nudity. Come and be our gunge slave! There was some more, including a mention that they were not only in my country but in my city, plus an email address. I was excited. I fitted their bill exactly. I was well under the age limit, I'm slightly built and I never wore anything while wamming. Not only that, I had no hang-ups about my sexuality and was desperate to get messy with other people. I also liked the bit about being their slave. When I have normal sex, I like to be pretty take-charge and forceful. But my great WAM dream was to be dominated by someone who would gunge me over and over again, obliterate me, render me unrecognisable. They sounded like they might be the ones. I emailed them straight away: "Hi, I read your message on the site. If you're still looking for a WAM partner I would love to volunteer. I'm 27 and live in _____________. [I gave my address.] I'm up for anything you suggest. I enclose a picture of myself. -wamslave" I would have liked to enclose a photo of myself naked and covered in gunge, but there was a good reason why I didn't. I don't own a digital camera. You, who probably don't share this fetish, but who may have fetishes of your own, should consider that. I couldn't just take a picture of myself naked and covered head to foot in cake batter and chocolate syrup and have it developed by a lab. The people who work in labs see what your photos look like. I didn't want to get any funny looks from the chemist. With a digital camera, you can do your own stuff and nobody else need ever know about the strange and humiliating things people sometimes do to get their rocks off. So instead I just provided a photo of myself looking reasonably OK-looking and relaxed and confident. I'm not the most gorgeously formed human being on the planet, but I eat sensibly and I exercise and I am slender and certainly not a couch potato. If anything, I'm on the skinny side. I didn't really think I would get a response, but I was proud of myself for trying. I got a reply within twenty-four hours. "Dear wamslave, You sound absolutely perfect and your photo is lovely. We would love to have you around for a session. How free are you next Saturday? We can't wait to get messy with you. We can promise you a gunging like you'll never forget! And maybe a bit more besides! -Pete & Barbara P.S. We enclose pictures of ourselves" The enclosed jpeg told me all I needed to know. It was obviously taken on holiday, they were standing on some beach. She was a good-looking curly-haired blonde wearing a bikini, not tall but with a lovely figure, while he was a heavy-set guy with short black hair and a slight paunch, wearing a pair of inappropriately brief swimming trunks, the two of them sporting sunglasses and standing with arms around each other's shoulders, smiling at the camera. I could have done a lot worse. I was very excited. I emailed them back and told me that next Saturday would be great. I got myself a haircut and took special care to eat well and work out so that I would be the WAM partner of their dreams. I even had fantasies about them adopting me in some strange way as their wamslave (I didn't choose my nickname idly), somebody that they could call upon whenever they wanted to wreak their wildest havoc on some willing young guy. I was a little surprised that they'd chosen me over a girl, but there aren't quite as many women into this as there are men (although there are more than you'd think). When Saturday dawned, I woke up early and I shaved with special attention and showered myself scrupulously and put on my oldest and cheapest t-shirt and combats, freshly laundered for the occasion. It was only a short bus ride from my flat to their house, but I wanted to be ready for anything that they wanted me to do. We had arranged for me to turn up around two p.m. I was so excited that it was hard to walk down the street to the bus stop without the bulge in my trousers being obvious to anyone who happened to look in that direction. I got the bus to their street, a quiet suburban avenue with detached houses and neat front gardens. I walked down the street checking the numbers, feeling like I had an appointment with destiny. Finally I reached their house. It looked like all the rest. There was a car in the driveway. It was a bright windy day. I went up to the door and rang the doorbell. A shape materialised behind the glass and the door opened. It was Barbara. She was wearing a light cotton frock and looked very attractive. She looked at me blankly for a moment, then she evidently recognised me from the picture. A sly smile came over her face. "Hello, you," she said and stepped aside to let me in. I smiled back, slightly nervous; after all, we each knew something secret and potentially embarrassing about the other. I entered the house and she shut the door behind me. She held out her hand and I took it. She shook it, grinning at me. "It's really nice to meet you," she said. "You too," I said. "Have you ever done this before?" "Not exactly, no," I said with a nervous laugh. "Oh," she said encouragingly, "you're in for a treat." She led me into the living room and offered me a cup of tea or coffee. I asked for plain water. She fetched me a glass and I sat on the sofa, sipping. "Pete's just upstairs, setting up," she explained. "Right," I said. "So just to know where we stand," she said, crossing one leg over the other. "You're okay with most kinds of gunge?" "Well, sweet stuff, yeah," I said. "Not so much ketchup or baked beans or anything like that." "Fine," she said, nodding seriously. "We thought that." What a weird conversation, I thought. She seemed to think so because she smiled and went charmingly pink before asking the next question. "And nudity's okay?" "Oh, it's essential," I said with mock seriousness, and we both laughed. "Okay," she said, "and, um...what about sexual contact?" I looked her in the eye. "I'm fine with that," I said casually. She smiled and put her hands between her knees. The gesture pushed her breasts together, emphasising her cleavage. I knew she did it to excite me, and she knew I knew, and I knew she knew I knew. "Pete and I have an open marriage," she said, like I couldn't have guessed that. "Have you done this a lot?" "Got messy with someone?" she said. "A few times, yeah. Pete got me into it." "What do you like in particular?" I asked. She considered for a moment. "Pies," she said. "Nothing like a big fluffy pie. I thought it was a bit strange at first, but now I love it." "I suppose it is a bit strange," I said. "Yeah, it is, actually," she said, and laughed. "Hi there," said a voice. I turned; a large man was in the room. I recognised him as the guy in the photos. He was wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of jeans. If anything, his paunch had got bigger since the picture. He advanced on me with an easy smile, holding out his hand. "I'm Pete," he said. We shook hands. He had that annoying habit of squeezing your hand too tight. "Barbara's been treating you well?" he said. "Of course I have," she said. "Great," he said, and stood irresolutely in the middle of the room for a moment. I got the impression that they were a bit shy, that they wanted someone to make the first move. "Shall we go up, then?" I said gently. Pete beamed and brought his hands together. "Great!" he said again, and Barbara and I stood up. "It's this way," he said, and went out into the hall. I followed, with Barbara coming last. We went up two flights of narrow stairs, at the top of which he opened a door and entered. I went in. It was an ordinary loft space that had been temporarily converted into a place to get messy. Heavy plastic sheets lined the floor and all the walls except one. There was a curtained-off alcove in a corner. The far wall of the room, the only one that wasn't covered with a plastic sheet, was mirrored, giving the unnerving impression that the place was twice as big as it was. There was a sturdy-looking plastic chair in the middle of the room, facing the mirror wall. Lined up on the floor along the adjacent wall were buckets and buckets of multi-coloured sludge, some of it pink, some blue, some green. There was a table with rows and rows of pies and bottles of chocolate sauce. Light came from a bare electric bulb and a skylight. I must have been grinning all over my face, to judge from the look on Pete's. "That's all for you," he said with a smile. Barbara came in. I faced them. "Okay," I said, "how do we do this?" "Well," she said, "you could start by taking off your clothes. Not your pants, though." She picked up a plastic bag and I took off my shoes, socks, t-shirt and combats. Underneath I was wearing a pair of faded boxer shorts. I handed my clothes to Barbara and she put them in the bag, then carried the bag downstairs. I stood in the attic in just my boxer shorts, feeling vulnerable and nervous and fantastically excited. I was about to be messed up like I had never been before, by two total strangers. Pete checked the plastic sheets and fiddled with things. "Will I sit on the chair?" I said. "Yeah," he said, absently. I guessed he was as excited as I was, and was only waiting until he could get down to it. I sat on the chair and faced my reflection, slender and pale, the dark blue boxer shorts the only thing preserving my modesty. Barbara came back up the stairs and shut the door behind her. She smiled at me in the mirror and held something up. Handcuffs. "You ready to be our gunge slave?" she said, dangling the thick metal cuffs. "I'm ready," I said. She walked towards me, I saw her in the mirror coming up behind me, smiling at my reflection, and she took my arms and handcuffed my wrists together, looping the cuffs through a cutaway in the back of the chair, so that I was fastened to the chair. She fixed the cuffs so that they wouldn't tighten on my wrists and stroked my head, smiling at my reflection. I was dying for them to start, almost panting at the thought of them turning their arsenal of pies and gunge loose on my body. Then Pete pulled aside the curtain in front of the alcove, and a young woman wearing a dark blue t-shirt and sweatpants stepped out, carrying a digital camcorder. She didn't look at me, but took the camera over to the mirror wall and set it up, pointing in my direction. She looked about twenty, with shortish brown hair and an attractive pale face with a wide mouth. She worked as though I wasn't there. To say that I was astonished would be putting it mildly. I hadn't agreed to be filmed doing this. "What's this?" I asked, trying to sound indignant. "That's our daughter, Karen," said Barbara, smiling sweetly at my reflection. "She's going to be filming this." "I didn't say you could film it," I said, getting frightened. "Oh, did we not mention that?" said Barbara. "Sorry. It's for our website, you see." "No!" I said, increasingly panicky, trying to wriggle out of the cuffs. The chair, I realised, was attached to the floor. "You're gonna be our latest star," said Barbara smoothly. "And I wouldn't talk too much, or people will recognise your voice." I was horrified. It was a trap. They had lured me here on the pretext that we would have a private WAM session, and it was going to be all too public. I groaned inwardly as I thought of all the things I had agreed to - nudity, "sexual contact" from either of them. I was going to be a messy hardcore porn star and there was nothing I could do except scream my head off. And there was something else; their daughter was in the room, and she was going to witness the whole thing, another of her parents' weird playmates with his bizarre fetish. God, I was so embarrassed and humiliated that I blushed crimson. Karen, the daughter, was looking through the viewfinder at me. She was long-legged and slender. What would she think of me? Her face was completely impassive. She didn't resemble either of her parents and I found myself wondering if she was adopted. There was nothing I could do. I felt the chill of certainty spread through me as I realised that I had only one option; to go through with it, and hope that nobody I knew would ever see the evidence. For some reason, it didn't frighten me too much. The initial shock and embarrassment had worn off, and I was becoming strangely calm. I explored my feelings and I found that, deep down, I wanted to do it. The thing had gone from being a playful and erotic afternoon to the greatest shaming of my life, and something in me responded to that. I was actually feeling a kind of excitement about it. It was still going to be hugely and overwhelmingly embarrassing if any of my friends or family found out, but I would just have to face that. I had volunteered to come here and the only way I could rise above the situation was to accept it. I sat in the chair, trying to keep calm. Pete and Barbara strolled around in front of me. I looked at my reflection, sitting handcuffed to the chair in his boxer shorts, blushing, breathing heavily. Pete asked Karen if she was ready and she nodded silently. The camera was on me. "Roll the camera," Pete said. The red light came on. Pete went over to the table and picked up a large pie. He came over to me and stood to one side, just out of shot. "You want this pie?" he said. "Yes," I said, my voice quavering. "You want to be our mucky little gunge slave?" he said. "Yes," I said. "Say it," he said. "Say 'Please, Pete and Barbara, make me into your mucky little gunge slave.'" "Please, Pete and Barbara," I said, dry-mouthed, "make me into your mucky little gunge slave." He threw the pie at my face. I had never had a pie thrown at me before. It hit me just off centre. My head jerked back with the force of it. The cream and custard forced themselves up my nose and into my eyes. I couldn't see. The crust fell off, hit my shoulder, broke in two and fell onto the floor. Over My Head Ch. 01 I cautiously opened my mouth and breathed through it. "Do you want another one?" Pete said. I nodded. Another pie smacked into the mess of the first one that was still clinging to my face. It was right in my eyes now. The crust hung there for a minute before sliding off and landing in my lap. The cream was nice and cool on my bare legs. "How about another one?" said Barbara. I opened and shut my mouth a couple of times until I had made a hole in the thick mask of goo on my face. "Yes please," I said. This time the pie landed on my bare chest, and was smeared around. I whimpered slightly. "Oooh, that looks great," said Barbara. "Give him another," Pete said. I felt one smack into the back of my head, and had only time to take a deep breath before yet another one was pushed into my face. There was so much pie glop on my head by now that the crusts were sticking to me. I let them sit for a minute, though, then shook my head slowly and they slid slowly off, falling apart as they landed with a wet splat in my lap or on the floor behind me. I wagged my mouth and made a hole in the goo to breathe through. I sighed slightly. Fingers carefully brushed the goo away from my eyes and I blinked. Barbara stepped aside and I looked at my reflection, sitting handcuffed to the chair, my arms behind my back, my head a mass of pie goop and bits of crust, with a small opening for just my face. I was breathing heavily and there was gunk on my chest and shoulders and in my lap. My boxers were already filthy. I was hoping they would make me take them off soon. "Have you had enough, yet?" said Barbara, smiling at my reflection in the mirror. "No," I said. "Say please," she said, and Pete walked over to us carrying a pie in each hand. "Please," I said, and Pete pushed the pies onto either side of my face, burying my head in a sandwich. I moaned. I felt Barbara unlocking the handcuffs. Were they stopping? She freed my arms. The pies fell off the sides of my head and I reached up instinctively to wipe the goo off my face, then thought better of it. They let me stand up, and I heard them fiddling with the chair, then I was made to sit down on it again, this time facing the back of it. My wrists were out in front of me, cuffed to the chair back, and I was sitting astride the seat breathing through my mouth. Barbara wiped some of the cream out of my eyes and I could see myself in the mirror, my head a mess of creamy goo and pie crust, sitting facing the back of the chair, my arse stuck out behind me. Pete came over holding a small jug. He pulled the waist of my boxers back and poured it inside, over my arse. I yelped with the cold. It was cream, oozing between the cheeks of my bottom and flowing out over the seat. I glanced at Karen. She was still filming impassively. God, it was so erotic to be humiliated like this in front of an attractive girl. The way she seemed not to be excited by any of it made it even more piercingly degrading. Pete pushed a pie into my face, then I felt one hit the left side of my head, then the right, and lastly one on top. I moaned, muffled by the weight of goo and crust over my face. I lowered my head and it slid off, my face, then I tilted my head back and some of it splattered down onto my back, sliding down and falling off me. "Stand up, slave," Pete said. I managed to stand, bent over, my hands still cuffed to the seat back, unable to see. A pair of hands grabbed my boxers and yanked them down, stripping me naked. I gasped. A pie was pushed into my bare arse and another one in my groin, smothering my half-erect cock in goo and cream. Immediately I started to get harder. I stepped out of my sodden boxers and they were whisked away. Then I was made to sit down again. I shook my head and opened my mouth wide to breath, then I rubbed my face on my shoulders to get the worst of the goo off and blinked. I was a pink and white, slimy, slippery, naked figure, handcuffed to the chair. I looked at Pete and Barbara fearfully. Now they would be turning the humiliation up a notch, now it was no longer just innocent fooling about. Barbara lifted her blue cotton frock over her head and took it off. Underneath she was wearing a blue bikini. She was staring at me, hungrily. Pete took off his t-shirt; his gut spilled out over the waistband of his trousers. They came over to me and Pete uncuffed me for a moment, but only to uncouple me from the chair. Barbara took the chair away and Pete made me kneel on the floor and then he handcuffed my wrists behind my back. I knelt on the plastic sheeting amid the wreckage of a dozen pies and straightened my back. My cock was somewhere between erect and soft; I was tingling with arousal, but the stickiness and the smell of the cream and custard and the solemn concentration of the girl with the camcorder was embarrassing and uncomfortable. Barbara came back and she stood in front of me, wiping my face and head carefully, getting most of the goo off. I spat some of the dribble off my lips. "You're very messy, little slave," she said fondly. "Do you want to get even more messy?" "Oh yes," I breathed, looking up at her. The closeness of her tanned, curvaceous body in the skimpy bikini was intoxicating. She was so clean, too, with only her hands smeared with goo and gunge. She went over to the table and washed them in a bowl of water, then dried them on some kitchen towel. Then she picked up a bucket and walked over to me. "Beg me for this," she said. "Please," I pleaded, "give it to me." I looked up. She tilted the bucket and green sludge began to pour down on me. I shut my eyes and let it cascade over my face and head and shoulders. It was thick and it blanketed my head quickly. I had to breathe, and I lowered my head and opened my mouth, letting it pour down the back of my neck and down my spine and over my bare arse. I moaned "Ohhh..." Now there could be no hiding my arousal. My cock was getting stiff as the green sludge flowed over it and around my balls. The flow went on and on and I shuddered beneath it. Finally it slowed to a trickle and stopped, and I opened and shut my mouth like a fish, and blinked. I could just make out a blurry green figure kneeling in the mirror, my body glistening with slime, when I saw the figure of Pete moving up to me. I blinked again and my vision cleared a little. I looked up at him and he had another bucket, which he slowly tilted above my head. A thick stream of blue gunge poured over my face and I turned my head from side to side, letting it flow all over my face, my eyes and mouth tight shut. Then I lowered my head and I cried "Ahh!" It was so sensual, kneeling naked in this room and being deluged with gunge by two people. "Kneel up," Pete said in my ear and I raised myself, instead of resting back on my heels. I suddenly felt a strong hand grasping my cock and I went "Oh God!" Then I felt the weight of a third bucket being emptied over me. "No!" I mumbled involuntarily through a mouthful of slime; it was sweet-tasting and bland. I spat it out and gasped for air. The hand was pulling on my cock. I had never been so humiliated in all my life, and it was the most intense thing that had ever happened to me. The hand went on pulling at my cock as the slime flowed over me, and it was quite some time before enough of it had flowed off my face for me to be able to risk opening my eyes. When I did, I saw a kneeling young man with his hands behind his back, his naked body coated in green, blue and bright red slime, an attractive blonde woman in a bikini kneeling next to him and pulling on his penis. Barbara let go of me as soon as she noticed that I could see again. She went over to the table and picked up a pie in each hand. She walked back over to the mirror and my eyes followed her all the way. I knew the camera was recording all this. "Oh no," I said, "please." I really didn't want her to do it. I was afraid that if they messed me up any more I would come spontaneously. "Please don't," I begged her. She smiled at me and threw it. It exploded over my face and I moaned and gasped. Whatever they had used for the pie filling was especially thick and sticky. My head felt heavy with the gunge and my body was so coated with the different slimes that I was getting hot. I kept thinking about what they were seeing, a young naked man letting himself be hit with pies and drenched in slime. I would let them do this to me and I would protest and moan and there was nothing I could do to stop them. I made a hole to breath through and I whimpered "Please, no, please..." Another pie slammed into my face and I flinched and gave a muffled whine of pleasure. My cock was sticking straight out in front of me. I was dying for one of them to touch me again. I didn't even care who, at this stage. The pie fell off my face and there was no way I could blink this amount of gunge out of my eyes. I was still upright on my knees. I spat pie gunk out of my mouth and went "Unnhhh..." Then I squealed as I felt a pie splatter over my bare arse, followed by another one on my cock and balls, which was rubbed well in. They were quickly followed by another on each side of my face, and then one more squarely in the middle. It was dark and I couldn't hear. My head was now one huge mass of sloppy pie gunk and crust and slime. It was in my ears, up my nose, in my mouth and in my eyes. I shook. I had never, ever been so aroused in my life, and if at that point I had been ordered to give Pete a blowjob, I wouldn't have refused. Instead I knelt there, giving muffled whimpers, as the pies slowly slid off my naked body. I was leaning forward slightly, my cock dying to be touched, wanting only for someone to take me. When the last pie finally slithered off my face, I opened my mouth wide and took a deep breath and went "Oh God..." "Do you like that, gunge slave?" said Barbara. "Oh God, yes," I moaned. "Well done," she said. "You've passed the first stage." I felt someone fumbling with the cufflinks and my handcuffs were taken off. "You can clean yourself off a bit," Barbara said. I reached up and wiped great sloppy handfuls of the gunge off my head. Soon I could see my reflection. Christ, I was filthy. I had messed myself up pretty lavishly on my own, but never as extravagantly as this. My entire naked body was smeared from top to toe with white cream and red, green and blue gunge, all of it now blending together and turning a pinky-grey colour. I knew I was meant to obey them, and I used my hands to scrape the worst off it off me. But even when I had finished, I was still a mess. I sat back on my heels and looked at my tormentors. "Get on your hands and knees," said Pete. I obeyed. I held my head up and kept looking at them. I couldn't quite face looking at Karen. I got the impression that she thought all this was just a bit stupid. "You've proved that you can be a gunge slave," said Barbara, bending over and smiling at me, her heavy breasts inside her bikini flecked with a few dots of white cream. "What we all want to know now is, can you be a filthy little gunge slut?" "Yes I can," I panted. "Brave words," Barbara said with a wicked grin, and she went over to the wall and picked up a large paint bucket. She carried it over to me and placed it in front of me. It was full almost to the brim with pink sludge. "Put your head in there until you can touch the bottom," she said. "When you do, count to ten before you come out. Don't worry if you can't make it to ten, just come out anyway." I looked up at them. There was no option. I had to do it, or I would never get any relief. I crouched before the bucket, staring at the thick pink sludge that smelled faintly of synthetic strawberry. I took a few deep breaths, and then I closed my eyes and mouth and I plunged my head into it. It was very thick, so thick that it didn't immediately start pouring up my nose like water would have done. I felt it welling around my neck and shoulders and overflowing the bucket. It was dark and deep and I could neither see nor hear. I felt a hand stroking me hard between my exposed naked buttocks, brushing my slippery anus, and I went "MMMMM!" But I kept counting. I got to ten and my lungs were still okay. I kept going until I got to fifteen, and then I had to pull my head out and gasp for air. The sludge clung onto my head and dripped onto my bare shoulders and chest and lap. I heard one of them say something but my ears were full, I couldn't tell who or what they'd said. "Oh God," I moaned. Immediately, a pie slammed into my face, and another one was smashed into my bare arse. They were held there and smeared around. "MMMNN!" I groaned in ecstasy. The pies were let drop and I knelt back and wiped my face. Pete was in front of me. In one motion he picked up the by now half-full bucket and inverted it over my head, leaving it there. I didn't move. The sludge oozed over my face and onto my body. I trembled. There didn't seem to be any limit to how much they wanted to humiliate me. After a long while, the bucket was lifted off my head and I gasped for breath. A hand shoved me back onto my hands and knees. I still couldn't see. Somebody wiped the sludge away from one of my ears and Barbara's voice said gleefully, "You want more?" "Oh yes..." I moaned. "Deep breath," she cautioned. I heaved a couple of large deep breaths, then I felt a hand on the back of my neck and my head was shoved into another bucket of sludge. This time it smelt of chocolate. My head was held in the bucket for only a few seconds before it let go and I hauled myself out, breathing in deeply. My eyes were gummed shut with what felt like several inches of sticky gunge. I couldn't see and could only barely hear. I felt a hand on my arse again, pushing between my naked buttocks, fingering my anus. I whimpered thickly. A finger was pushing inside me, and I made a guttural moan. Then another finger. I was suddenly sure that I was about to be fucked in my arsehole. The thought frightened me, and also made me harder than ever. It was the thought that Barbara and Karen were watching me. A good-looking mature woman and her daughter were about to witness me receiving the ultimate humiliation. My cock was aching to come. I whimpered "Oh Christ, please..." "Say, 'Pete and Barbara, make me into your filthy little gunge slut,'" said Pete from behind me, in a harsh voice. "Pete and Barbara," I breathed, "make me into your filthy little gunge slut." I felt the tip of his cock pressing against my anus and I winced. He was leaning in. It felt like I had to go the bathroom really badly. I knew that was an illusion and I tried to relax. I was so covered in pie goo and gunge back there that I was thoroughly lubricated. He leaned further in, and I felt my arsehole widening, and then his tip was inside me and I cried out, once, from the pain. Then it got easier, and I felt him slide up into me and I gave an ecstatic moan of "UUNH!" and began to accept him in my arse. It felt fantastically dirty and forbidden to have a man in my arse like this. My cock was at attention and was swaying beneath my belly as Pete held onto my slender hips and ravished me. Pete was not looking to climax. He was just doing this to remind me who was master and who was slave. He pumped in and out of me for a couple of minutes and I moaned and drooled, impaled on his cock, naked and filthy on my hands and knees before his wife and daughter. A pie was shoved almost delicately into my face while he was buggering me and I gave a blissful, muffled moan from inside it. Then it was let drop, and he slithered out of my arse, and I was left trembling and gasping on my hands and knees, awaiting my next torture. I was pushed over until I sat on the floor, then somebody was wiping the pie goo and thick gunge out of my face. I let them do it. After a moment I could see again. My slimy body was sitting naked on the plastic sheet, smeared with a thin coating of greyish slime, while my head was covered in pink and brown sludge. My face appeared, my mouth hanging open, and my ribcage was rising and falling. I looked up at Pete and Barbara. "Lie on your back," Pete said. Barbara looked highly excited. I lay down in the pool of slime and gunk that had accumulated on the floor, feeling it ooze around my arse and shoulders and in my short hair. Pete knelt at my right wrist and tied something around it. I looked - he was tying me to ringbolts in the floor, immobilising me. Karen, in the corner, had tilted the camera down and was videoing all of this. Pete tied me securely to the floor, my wrists level with my shoulders, my legs out straight. I looked up at them, beseechingly, begging them to do something else to me. Barbara reached behind her and with a tug, the string of her bikini top came undone and she took it off. Her breasts were swinging free, slightly paler than the rest of her but not totally, as if she sunbathed topless. Then, smiling eagerly at me, she peeled the skimpy bikini bottoms down over her round hips and let them drop down her legs. From the equal, only slightly fainter tan on her groin, I guessed that she sunbathed nude. She stepped over to me, picking her way through the muck, her breasts swaying, and she sat astride my bare legs. Her pussy was shaved and there was a small tattoo near her vagina which depicted a cartoon girl's face being hit by a sploshy custard pie. Beneath it, in very small letters, were the words GUNGE BITCH. She took my cock in her hands and pulled on it. I whimpered. Was I going to get to fuck Barbara? Or was all this just an elaborate tease? And what about Karen, the girl in a corner, watching her mother strip naked and sit on a naked, filthy stranger and touch him this way? What did she think of all this? I was staring at Barbara's curvy, tanned, naked body and I only noticed that Pete had walked over to the table and then gone around behind my head. "Oooh, you have a beautiful cock, little gunge slut," Barbara said. "I bet you'd like to put that inside me, wouldn't you?" "Yes," I gasped. A pie came from behind me, landing square in my face, and I moaned "MMMM!" Pete was kneeling just outside my field of vision. Barbara's hands were still moving up and down my cock and I could hardly bear it. I shook my head and opened my mouth and breathed through it, shuddering. "You'd like to fuck me, wouldn't you, you little gunge slut?" Barbara purred. "Yes," I sobbed. Another pie was shoved down into my face and I arched my body and squirmed. I felt Barbara moving up my thighs, over my groin, her warm dry legs astride me, and then, oh bliss, the sensation of the slimy tip of my cock pushing at her labia, and she moving her hips up and down, letting me in, sinking down on my cock up to the hilt. She moaned with pleasure. So did I. It felt so good to be finally allowed to fuck someone that I wasn't sure how long I could hold out. I bucked my hips up into Barbara's as much as I could and she gasped and kept up a running commentary, "Oh fuck yes, that's so good, oh God, oh fuck me, yes, fuck me, little gunge slut, that's it, fuck that feels good, oh yes..." I felt Pete's hands wiping a little of the pie goo off my face, just so that I could see. Barbara's gorgeous, soft naked body was bouncing up and down on my hips and she was touching her breasts, feeling herself, her eyes closed, her mouth open and smiling. Her hands caressed her heavy tits and neck and went down to her crotch, and she was squirming on top of me. Pete had walked out of view, and then I saw him coming around behind Barbara with a pie in each hand. I thought they were meant for me and I whimpered. But he winked at me, and walked up behind his clean, naked wife as she sat on my hips, riding my cock, and he pied her on either side of her face, a perfect sandwich. Over My Head Ch. 01 "OOOOOHHH!" Barbara screamed, muffled. She raised her hands to her face as Pete kept the pies there, rubbing them into her tanned face and curly blonde hair. Then he stepped back from her. One of the pies fell off her face, bounced off one of her breasts and broke open on her bare thigh. The other stuck there and only slowly slid off. Barbara's face and hair were a clogged mess of pie gunk and crust. All you could make out of her features were the tip of her nose and her open mouth. I urged my groin up into hers. I wasn't going to be able to hold it much longer. I had to come. She hung her gooey head forward and rode my cock expertly. Pete came back. He had a pie in each hand and another balanced on his forearm. He took the one in one hand and balanced it on his other arm, then he stepped up behind Barbara and tugged her by her blonde curls until she was facing up at the light. Then he took a pie and shoved it into her face. He held it there. "MMMMFF!" she moaned into the pie plate. He let go and the plate fell off, but the pie still hung on Barbara's face. He immediately pushed another pie on top of that one, and she trembled and shuddered and made a muffled, inarticulate scream of pleasure. Barbara was getting wiped out, all right. I felt myself going to come and I arched my back and Barbara thrashed, her nude body still relatively clean except for the huge sloppy mess that was her head, and Pete came around and knelt next to me and shoved the last pie right down into my face. That was when I came, jerking my hips upwards and moaning into the creamy depths of the pie. Barbara's pussy clenched around my cock, milking me as I pumped into her. I heard her muffled cry of pleasure. It was the most explosive, voluptuous orgasm of my life. I lay back and had to hold my breath because of the pie covering my face, but then I jerked my head to one side and the plate fell off and I was able to blow a hole in the thick heap of goop on my face and pant, hard. "Oh God," I sighed as I came down from the pinnacle of arousal they had slowly been drawing me up to. I felt some gobs of slime hitting my stomach and reckoned they must be falling off Barbara's face. My wrists were untied, first one then the other, and I wiped my eyes. Barbara was still sitting on me, nude, her body glistening with perspiration, her creamy head hanging down. My cock was soft inside her. She made no attempt to wipe the pie off her face. Pete circled around behind her with a pie in each hand. He stood behind her and grinned at me, ferociously. "You fucked my wife, gunge slut," he said, and Barbara raised her head and started to make a noise of protest when he slammed first one, then the other pie into her face. She squealed thickly into the goo. He took the handcuffs out of his pocket, grabbed her wrists and pulled them behind her back, cuffing them together. The pies were sliding off her face and she moaned "Oh no, Pete, please, don't..." Don't what, I thought, getting worried. Was there still more to this then I'd been able to make out? Was this some private thing between the husband and wife that I was just a pretext for? Pete dragged Barbara off me, as she struggled feebly, and he sat her down with some force on the plastic sheeting. Her face had vanished behind the thick coating of pie goo, there was just a dark hole where her mouth was. She turned her head desperately from side to side, trying to work out where he was. Karen had taken the camcorder off the tripod and was using it handheld. She had moved around to get both Barbara and I into shot. Pete went over to the table and picked up two pies. He walked over to where his wife sat naked and handcuffed on the floor, her head a fluffy mass of white goo, and he pied her on the front and back of her head. Barbara shuddered, the plump flesh on her waist and thighs quivering. "The gunge bitch can give it but she can't take it," Pete said. Barbara whimpered pitifully. Pete went back to the table and got another two pies, and this time he threw them, hitting first her face with demon accuracy and making her yelp, and letting the other one splatter over her heavy, pear-shaped tits. "Nooo..." Barbara whined. Pete went over to her and made her lie on her back, her face looking blindly up at the ceiling, her handcuffed arms out to one side, her feet flat on the floor and her legs bent and spread. Then he started pieing her relentlessly. I had never seen anything like it. He went back to the table again and again, plastering her tanned, nude body with pie after pie while she whimpered and wept for mercy, begging him to stop, please, no more, she couldn't take any more, she was sorry. He left out no part of her, pushing pies down onto her face and smearing them over her breasts and shoving more than one up between her legs to break up and ooze over her naked crotch. Barbara was squirming with humiliation and sobbing with what sounded like bliss. I realised that Pete wanted me to watch this. For all I could tell, so did Barbara. This was the play they must act out with every partner they got; Barbara did the seducing, the stranger got the first punishment, and then Barbara got punished for doing the seducing. Which meant that I presumably had more punishment coming to me. When Barbara was basically a heaped-up mound of fluffy white goo and pie filling, with only a few patches of her naked skin still showing through, Pete forced one more pie down hard on her face and she moved her legs feebly and whimpered. I had seen a man comprehensively demolish his own wife with sadistic glee. I had seen her writhe and squirm and bask in her humiliation. He had already demonstrated to me that he could do what he wanted with me. I was getting scared, imagining what that might consist of. Pete got up from where he knelt on the floor, breathing heavily. His jeans were soaked in pie cream and gunge. He unbuttoned them and pulled them off. Underneath he was wearing a skimpy pair of jockey shorts. He felt around in the pocket of his discarded jeans and pulled out another set of handcuffs. Then he walked towards me and said "Hold out your hands, slut." I held my wrists out. He cuffed my hands in front of me and pulled me to my feet. I stood on shaky legs and looked at my reflection. I was drenched with the greyish-pink sludge on the floor and my head was still liberally smeared with cream and custard. I stood there, naked, my hands cuffed before me, waiting to see what he would do to me. He went over to the wall and picked up a bucket. He stepped over his panting wife, almost invisible beneath the thick coating of cream and gunk, and walked up to my side. "You see how the gunge bitch got hers, you little slut?" "Yes," I breathed. "That's what I do to her when she fucks around. But it's nothing to what I'm going to do to you. You fucked my wife. Didn't you." "Yes." "Say it!" he snarled. "I...I fucked your wife." "You fucked my wife because you're just a filthy little gunge slut who deserves whatever comes to him. Say it." "I fucked your wife because I'm a filthy little gunge slut who deserves whatever comes to him." "Say your prayers, slut," he sneered, and he raised the bucket over my head and poured its contents over me. It smelled of chocolate, but it was black and sticky. It rolled over my forehead and down over my face and ran in thick, sticky trails all over my naked body. I trembled and went "Oooh..." It went on and on, the flow, pouring over my cock and balls and down into the crack of my behind, and I stood there, feeling myself getting hard again. When it finally stopped flowing I had little time to get used to it. My eyelids felt like they were glued together. I heard his footsteps, and then another even thicker gunge was being poured over my head. I lifted my face into the flow and let it go all over me, trembling as I stood there, letting him do whatever he wanted to do to me. The gunge was pleasantly cool, but it stuck to my skin so much that I began to feel quite hot. I stood there for I don't know how many minutes, as he emptied one bucket of gunge over my head, then another, then another. It was like I was standing beneath a constant flow of thick and opaque sludge, deluging my naked body. It was pooling at my feet, the level was already rising to my ankles. I always turned my face up to take it full on, and then I would have to lower my head and open my mouth wide and breathe through it. I stood there, docile, letting him do it. I started counting the buckets he emptied over me, and I got up to ten when his feet went away and then returned. My body was heavy and stiff with the sludge; I must have been unrecognisable. The weight of the bucket descended over my head and everything went dark and silent. He had just turned the bucket over and put it on my head. The thick sludge bubbled at my nose and flowed down my chest and over my genitals. I stood, unresponsive. Then he took the bucket off my head and his hands forced me to kneel down in the deep pool of sludge on the floor. Then, he was pushing me forward so that I was on my cuffed hands and knees. I felt him feeling between my sludge-covered arse cheeks. "Oh no," I gasped. "Please!" "You'll take it, slut," he said. "Please, no," I begged him, feeling the heavy slime clinging to my face, feeling Karen's eyes on me, knowing she was watching him do this to me. "You know what I do to little gunge sluts who fuck my wife?" he said. "No," choked and breathless. "I fuck them," he said. "I fuck them hard. In their little boy-pussies. That's what I'm going to do to you, you slut." "Oh God," I moaned, as he shoved his finger up my arse, loosening me. Now he would be doing it for real, now he would truly be taking my virginity that way. "Can you feel me?" he said. "You slut. Every slut has a cunt, right? Can you feel my fingers in your cunt?" "Yes". I was so desperate, so scared, so wanting it. "Tell me to fuck you there," he commanded me. "Tell me to fuck you in your cunt." "Oh God, Pete," I sobbed, "please, please, fuck me in my cunt, please..." He roughly shoved his swollen cock against my anus, forcing me open unmercifully, and I screamed weakly. My cock was dangling beneath me. He spread my slippery buttocks with his hands and pulled me back onto him, slipping his long, narrow penis up into my arsehole. I shuddered. He began to fuck me, pulling on my cock, holding onto my hips as he pumped into his filthy naked victim, and I could do nothing to stop him, I wanted it so much. I had a brief mental image of Karen, naked and covered in sludge, on her hands and knees moaning as I fucked her arse, and I gasped with lust. "Don't think you're going to have my daughter," he gasped as he kept on buggering me, fucking my arse ruthlessly, his cock sliding in and out of my rectum. "She knows your kind. She knows the only thing you're good for." I panted with each stroke. I was dumb with humiliation that he had even seemed to know what I was thinking. I hung my head and took him. Karen was undoubtedly watching me, the filthy naked victim of her father's lust, and she would have nothing but contempt for me after seeing what I let him do to me. His strokes increased in speed and vigour and I gasped with the pain and indignity of it. Pete began to snort and snuffle like an animal and he hauled on my cock, bringing me closer and closer to my own abject and shaming climax. He pushed harder and harder, and I felt my knees giving way, and my hands sliding forward, and then with a terrified squeal I collapsed onto my belly on the pool of sludge, him still on top of me, still in me, so that I sprawled beneath him. He shoved my face into the thick sludge and my breath bubbled around me. The force of his cock up my arse and his hand on me and what he had made me do and how he was making me feel made the heat rise in my groin, and as I lay face-down in the slime I felt myself coming for the second time. I screamed, my voice muffled by the thick sludge. My body stretched, my arms over my head, and I rubbed my cock into the sludge as it spurted uselessly. Pete was coming into me. I felt the sensation of his semen flooding around his cock in my tight arsehole. I was utterly humiliated; nobody had ever before turned me into quite such a pathetic, whimpering animal. He pulled out of me, breathing heavily, and got off me. I raised my head and took a deep breath. "Oh Jesus," I whimpered. I had been stripped naked, and pied, and gunged, and anally penetrated, and fucked another man's wife, and lastly deluged in slime and sodomised to within an inch of my life. And it was all on tape. I reached up with my cuffed hands and wiped some of the slime off my face and head, clearing my nose and eyes and ears. When I could see, I looked around. Pete was gone. Barbara was standing up, wiping the pie goo off her naked body. Her mass of blonde curls was now greasy and slicked to her head. I knelt up. Barbara smiled at me. "You were fantastic," she said. "We hope you'll stay for dinner. Karen will help you get cleaned up." She picked up her abandoned bikini and her frock, and walked with dignity out of the room. I turned and looked at their daughter, who was putting the camera back on its tripod. The red light was off. She looked a little flushed. It was nothing to how I felt. "Do you want a hand with that?" I said, and felt like an idiot. What sort of question was that? "No," she said shortly. "You'll get it dirty. Just wait there." This poised, good-looking girl carried the camcorder and tripod over to the alcove. I sat naked in the pool of thick dark sludge and watched her. She was slim and had a nice figure. As she walked away from me, I glimpsed that her tracksuit trousers were slightly low on the hip. There was a band where you could see her bare midriff. When she had her back to me, I could see the red t-shape where the vertical part of a thong meets the horizontal part, just above the waistband. So, Karen wore thongs. "You probably think this is really weird," I said as she came back. She shrugged. "I'm used to it. They've been doing it since forever. They used to hide it from me, when I was a kid. They thought I didn't know, but I could tell. My mum was always buying loads of baking stuff but we never seemed to have any cakes." She smiled, then, and it was a slightly crooked, slightly goofy smile. "But this is a fucking weird set-up," I said, crossing my ankles and hugging them to make myself seem less naked. "I mean with you and the camera and all." "Someone's got to work the camera," she said. "And it's paying my way through film school." "Don't you think it's kind of pervy, though?" Karen looked at me pityingly. "What does that make you?" she said quietly. "Fair point," I said, blushing. I wiped some sludge off my face and shoulders. She laughed quietly. "I don't judge anyone," she said. "Whatever people are into. I have to say, you're the first one who went as far as that." "Really?" I said. Karen started to stack the empty buckets. "Oh yeah," she said over her shoulder. "Most people only get as far as taking their clothes off. Most of them get really scared when Pete starts playing with their bottom." She blushed again. "Well, I don't really have any hang-ups about that," I said. "I can tell," she said, amused. "But you probably think it's just really stupid," I said. "I told you," she said patiently, "I don't judge people. I don't get the whole gunge thing, but...I like watching," she added quietly. We looked at each other for a moment. She had just seen me stripped and gunged and fucked by her mother and her father. And something definitely passed between us, at that instant. "You don't look like them," I said. "I'm adopted," she said, and went back to cleaning up. I sat and watched her, as the sludge and goo became uncomfortably sticky on my body. "You'd better go and have a shower," she said. "Barbara will have finished by now." "You want me to give you a hand here?" "No, no," she said cheerfully. "I'm used to it. I'll finish up." She started to take down the plastic sheets that lined the walls. I got up and walked out of the loft, down the wooden stairs and into the bathroom. The room was steamy and damp; Barbara had clearly just left. I turned on the shower and got underneath it. It was hard to get it all off, but my scrubbing my body with soap until I was pink, and washing my hair two or three times, I managed to clean myself up. The water stopped running greyish-brown off my body. I was washing my hair for the last time when I saw through the frosted glass door of the shower a slender, dark form in the room. "Who's that," I said. "It's only me." Karen's voice. I watched the indistinct form reach up and its upper half became flesh coloured, then the tracksuit bottoms were lowered. A blurry white band around the chest fluttered off, and then the red triangle at crotch level was whisked off, and the glass door was opened and Karen was next to me in the shower. She was naked. She smiled her crooked, goofy smile at me and rolled her eyes slightly. I was relieved that I'd come twice already that day, or I would have instantly had to fight an erection. "I'm not trying to seduce you," she said. "Just saving water." She was slim, with small breasts and lovely hips that were just the right kind of round. Her pubic hair wasn't shaven. "I'll get out of here," I said nervously, but she looked at me with interest as she washed the flecks of gunk off her. "No hurry," she said calmly. "Anyway there's stuff in your ears and on your neck. Let me." I stood still as she soaped my ears, and then I turned and she washed the last of the half-dried sludge off the back of my neck. It was so easy doing this, standing in the shower with this strange naked girl I'd only just met; she was like the sister I'd never had. When she'd finished, I said "Want me to wash you?" but she just laughed and said "I've been washing myself for a few years now, thanks," and then she closed her eyes and put her face and hair under the spray from the shower, her lips pressed tightly together. God, she was lovely. Barbara had been sexy, Pete had been dominating and cruel in a way that I responded to. But Karen was just a lovely-looking girl, although maybe in a slightly unconventional way - there was something a little thin about her, and her features were spaced slightly too wide apart for a purist. Still, as she stood and sighed under the spray of water from the shower, her naked body glittering in the light, I caught my breath. She opened her eyes and looked at me, twisting her mouth quizzically. "I just should say," she said softly, blinking as the water trickled over her face, "I don't normally get into showers with people Pete and Barbara invite round. In case you were wondering." "I didn't think so," I said. "Purely a practical measure." She regarded me for a moment, then she raised her arms, put them around my neck and pulled me into her. Our bodies touched, her breasts against my chest, our bellies meeting, my genitals fitting snugly in the hollow of her crotch. She kissed me, a long and exploratory kiss, her tongue gently tasting mine, then pushing in harder. My arms were around her torso, and I held her tight, then I let my hands drop to her wet and naked bottom. I held her beautiful round buttocks in my hands for a moment. She broke out of the kiss, smiled at me and twisted her mouth again. "Steady on, Romeo," she murmured. "I hardly know you. There'll be time enough for that." "Sorry," I breathed. "Go on," she said, cocking her head and reaching for the shampoo, "better get dressed. They'll want to wine and dine you." Over My Head Ch. 01 "I don't mind being wined and dined if you're gonna be there," I said. "I will be," she said. "But mind yourself. Pete doesn't want their partners getting involved with me." "I'll just have to be discreet, then," I said. Her pink and wet body was only inches from mine. The impulse to take her in my arms again was so strong. "You're going to keep on with them?" She was looking at me carefully. "Well..." I said, "it was incredible. I mean, I do get a lot out of it. But I could stop..." She folded her slim arms over her breasts and leaned back against the wet tiled wall. "I'm not gonna make you stop," she said. "Anyway, I told you. I like to watch. I, uh...I specially liked watching you, today. You were so into it. I'd love to have something that would get me that turned on." She blushed and looked away and giggled. "Anyway, so, no. I don't want you to stop. But we want to see each other, don't we?" "Yeah, well, we're just gonna have to be careful then, aren't we?" I said, smiling. "That we are," Karen said. She kept staring at me for a moment, then she leaned forward, kissed me quick on the lips, smiled happily and turned her back on me, reaching again for the shampoo. I took in the long sweep of her, the slicked-back dark hair on her round head, her angular shoulders and bare back down to the deep cleft between her buttocks, her smooth legs, one of them slightly bent as she squirted the shampoo into her palm, then I slipped out of the shower. (To be continued...)