"Are you ready to play for the MEGASLOP JACKPOT?"

The call over the loud speakers (and the resulting yelling and cheers) resounded around half the university campus. The noise and presence of it all were enough to make Megan wince. After a hard day poring over research papers and scribbling endless notes, the last thing she had wanted to do was compete with was some sort of juvenile game show parking itself close to her dormitory. Yet park it had, and with a sinking heart and slight slump of the shoulders she realised she'd have to jostle through the ever-growing crowd and past the colossal set to get to anything that resembled peace and quiet.

This was easier said than done, however, taking into consideration how massive the set actually was. Lights and rigging surrounded a simple, raised stage space, which already took up so much room. But it was the hulking structure at the back of the stage itself that really dominated both the eye and the area. It had technical terms and trademarks, but the name that had stuck with it was the name that suited its purpose - the megaslop machine.
It started off simple enough, with a simple Perspex booth at its base, a plain metal stool placed within. Yet in and around this booth were endless pipes and tubes, all culminating in nozzles that pointed at the empty space within in an oddly unsettling manner.

This was just the start of things, however. The prize of the main attraction went to the colossal cylindrical vat poised above, consisting of four clear sides, held together with a crazy mesh of metal and bolts. Revealed within was four different quadrants, each full to the brim with an almost absurd amount of thick, sticky gunk. Each was their own colour; green, blue, red and yellow. Each seemingly gurgled and sloshed around of its own accord. The end result was a immense structure that captured the attention of all those around, and drew them in with a rising sense of unease (Or, in the case of the engineering students, mild bafflement).

Megan herself eyed the structure with wide eyes as she drew nearer, a sick feeling in her stomach only increasing with each step, as she finally nudged herself gently into the back of the crowd with trepidation. She had never been one for social events, much more being the reserved type whose only desired company was that of a good book. Even when nearing graduation after three long years, she had never really made a friend, and that suited her just fine - all it meant was less awkward small talk. This aversion to company was causing her to struggle now, however; her tiny squeaks of "Sorry" and "Excuse me" barely registered over the din of the crowd. Her looks, though, were much more successful at snapping some people's attention away from the machine.

Her chestnut fair fell softly past just past her chin in a natural bob (She was never one for styling), and were coupled together with a round face and soft complexion, despite her aversion to wearing much makeup. She had brilliant blue eyes - often round in fear of something - and the end result was a sort of natural beauty many of the mean girls on campus looked upon with envy.

Despite this, even to those who managed to look upon her face (before Megan would shyly look away) would inevitably find their eyes drawing downwards. Her chest, after all, was what made her the paradox to practically every college nerd stereotype, as she possessed a pair of round, plump breasts that seemed to want to burst out of every top she ever wore. They were coupled with a bum that was curvy and slightly chubby in all the right ways, a slight juggle and sway to it present even with the simplest actions. Even her basic attire today - jeans and a plain red jumper emblazoned with a Harry Potter motif, which pressed against her chest despite being baggy by design - caused several men to do a double-take as she shuffled meekly past.

As she continued to slowly nudge her way through the crowd, the host of the show continued to bounce around the stage, trying to rile them up. A stereotype in himself, he was all dazzling smiles and perfectly combed blonde hair, with the look completed by a cheap gold suit. This all made him feel the part, but simply incited giggles and snorts of laughter from the crew when he wasn't paying attention.

"Who out there is going try their luck at winning massive prizes?"he hollered, flashing the twelfth cheesy grin of the past five minutes. "But beware - you may have to risk it all if you want to stay in the game!"

This cry elicited more cheers from the crowd, many of which knew exactly what 'risking it all' was meant to be. The megaslop game show has been going from strength to strength across university campuses around the country, with endless clips of losing girls suffering humiliating outcomes being plastered on all the slightly seedier parts of the web. Quite why the leads of these universities kept allowing the show onto their grounds considering the results was a mystery for the ages... Yet the fact many seemed to show up with shiny new cars a short time later seemed to be a rather strange coincidence.

"So, do we have any willing volunteers?" the host questioned, the smirk on his face dangerously close to getting stuck there.

All told, it took surprisingly little to set the next chain of events in motion. A point and a smirk in Megan's direction and a firm shove in the lower back from one of the bigger jocks, was all it took. This sent her careering forward, notes flying out her hands as she tumbled up the stage steps. The minor miracle of her managing to keep her footing went unnoticed, however, as she spun around and froze solid at the sight of hundreds of faces now looking up at her.

"Ah, we have a challenger! And what a dramatic entrance!" the host joked. "Say, why don't tell us all your name?"

Faced with being plunged into such a situation, different personalities would take different approaches. Some would stumble awkwardly off the stage, mumbling apologies. Some would laugh heartily and make their exit, smiling all the while. Hell, even the select few might even choose to roll with the punches and eagerly play along. Yet Megan was none of those types. Faced with the sudden shock of the situation, her conflict averse-nature, and most importantly a deep-seated desire to never let anyone down (no matter the cost to herself), there was only one outcome that could occur. She answered the question.

"M- Megan."

"Ah! Megan! A lovely name! Say, Megan are you up for potentially winning big?"

A second chance to escape, almost a life ring being thrown in her direction, but Megan didn't catch it.
"Yes?" she whispered, despite the clear answer being quite the opposite.

"Excellent! Well, let me explain the rules of the game - although" the host said with a sly chuckle and a knowing wink to the audience. "I'm pretty sure everyone knows them by now!"

It didn't take a genius to guess they likely involved the giant tank that loomed behind Megan, but since the host was now in full-on performance mode to the audience, any protests would have fallen on deaf ears anyway.

"It's an easy game! Answer my questions right, and you'll get ever increasing cash prizes! But beware, any wrong answer means the end of the game and the loss of all your winnings - unless you're willing to pay the price to keep playing!"

A deafening cheer went up from the audience at this point, all of whom certainly had no issues with this new contestant losing. Some even recognised her as the quiet geek girl, their excitement at her playing along only fuelling their reaction. None of this went noticed by Megan, however, who was still struggling to keep up, her body so frozen to the spot that if the game had been musical statues she would have won the jackpot instantly. Some deep depth within her mind, where the anxieties about bills always festered, perhaps caught on to the words 'cash prizes'. It still didn't change the fact that the rest of the host's explanation had sunken in so little she would not have noticed if he had burst into song instead.

"So, for $50 - here we go with your first question." said the host, not-unkindly hooking his arm over Megan's shoulders and slowly steering her into the centre stage. "Where in the world would you be if you were standing on the Spanish Steps?"

It was a question laced with a simple, avoidable trap. Perhaps it was the relief of not stumbling into it that caused the answer to tumble from Megan's lips before any other thought could catch up.

"Italy." she whispered into the microphone, a noticeable tremor in her voice.

A cheery "ding!" indicated this answer was correct, and was followed by a smattering of applause and some half-hearted cheers from an audience who could not have made it clearer that this was not the outcome they were looking for.

"Question two!" the host declared, keeping up the energy. "This is to up your prize to $100 - which author wrote the novel Great Expectations?"

Being well-read in this world, like Megan was, carries many advantages. A better understanding of the planet around us, a greater appreciation of culture, the sheer joy of reading itself. Unexpectedly, 'not being humiliated in front of hundreds of people' had now apparently made that list.

"Charles Dickens?" Megan squeaked out, her body and mind essentially still running on auto-pilot on this point. Another 'ding' followed her answer, coupled with even less enthusiastic applause from the crowd, a few of which worriedly shot glances at each other at how she Megan had flown through the first two questions.

Yet with this second answer also came other changes, unnoticed perhaps by all but Megan herself. Her muscles finally loosened slightly from a state of pure, panic-stricken tension. A much-needed calming breath escaped from her lips. Unexpected endorphins shot through her body, fuelled by winning money and potentially winning more. This calming of her nerves was useful, but they coupled together with something far more dangerous - against all odds, against her mild personality and overwhelming common sense, she was slowly gaining confidence.
She could do this.

The host, whose confidence in contrast was now starting to plummet, pushed on with the next question regardless.
"Ok For $200 - which band had the hits Monkey Wrench and Everlong?"

That was Foo Fighters - only one of Megan's favourite bands. Those were also the songs she would turn up and scream along to when she was absolutely sure no-one would catch her in the act of doing do - Which happened basically never, but still, the thought was there. She stated the answer (this time with noticeably less shakiness in her voice), and was met by yet another resounding 'ding!' signifying a correct answer.

The confidence levels increased again, just enough to blot out the reactions of a crowd that was struggling to cope from going from eager anticipation to potential disappointment. Many were now anxiously shuffling their feet, their desire to see this mild-mannered babe slathered in sludge being crushed under the cold weight of reality. Some muted boos even started to sprout from the back of the crowd. One of the tanks on the megaslop machine even chose this moment to gurgle and bubble menacingly, as if adding its own displeasure at the possibility of not being able to dispense its mucky payload on an unwilling victim.

"Right" muttered the host, who was now struggling with the self-doubt that Megan seemed to be slowly offloading on to him. "For $500 - What is the name of the hero in the popular video game series The Legend of Zelda?"

Amazingly, a ghost of a smile played on Megan's face. It was there for the briefest of moments, unnoticed by a crowd who were now practically begging for things to swing their way, but it was definitely there.

"Link." Her face remained pale and her mind was still mainly a rush of incoherent thought, but there was a confidence in this answer, and rightfully so. Another 'ding' sounded, at which point the displeasure of the crowd escalated from a murmur to a palpable din of boos and groans. They knew the jackpot was won after five questions, something that had only ever happened once before. That feat had been completed by a feisty redhead, who had chosen to whip her top off and jump in the tank anyway to celebrate; frantically jiggling her boobs with joy even as the muck cascaded on to her. There was a definite sense there wouldn't be such a repeat performance if Megan became the second winner.

Even the host betrayed his nervousness with a tug of his collar and a frenzied glance over the audience. Despite only being the one who read the questions whilst invoking some glitz to proceedings (Well, in his eyes), he still had enough smarts to recognise the fury of a mob would likely be directed his way. Already plans were forming in his mind on how to flee to his car and zoom away though the nearest exit.

All of these was, once again, completely lost on Megan. Fear still dominated her mind, but now other thoughts were pushing their way to the surface. Most notably, part of her was wondering what to do with her potential winnings. Never mind buying a boring old basic box set of Lord of the Rings books to replace her tatty, well-thumbed copies - she could get the leather embossed versions! With the gold lettering on the side! Or she could put it away for a trip to Universal Studios to see - whisper it - The Wizarding World of Harry Potter. The potentials seemed endless, and they were putting up a furious fight against the hollow dread that still sat in her stomach.

"Ok, get ready, Megan, because here's your question for the megaslop jackpot of ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS..."
A strange silence fell upon the scene.

"Which American Footballer has the popular nickname 'Gronk'?"

It only took a moment - a fraction of a second after the question had been asked - for all of Megan's carefully crafted hope and optimism to drain completely out her system. In its place, taking over in a heartbeat, was pure terror. Her muscles were taut again. Any colour that has returned to her face disappeared yet again. And her face took on a familiar wide-eyed expression, the same sort of look a deer might get when suddenly faced with the high beams of a pickup truck.

The panic centres of her brain scrambled for any possibility they could find, but her brain had nothing to give her. This was a question on American Football, the classic playground of jocks and cheerleaders, the nerd kryptonite. It was almost as if the question had been laser-guided to precisely hit her weakest point. It was a mad accident, the host would claim, that he had just happened to have shuffled his question cards and landed on this precise one.

Megan's palpable dread was essentially blood in the water to the crowd. Faced with utter disappointment, their fortunes had suddenly reversed, and they knew it. A low mix of cheers, whoops and laughter started building, gaining momentum with every second that passed by.

To Megan's credit, a soft "Um..." did manage to pass her lips. However, this was completely drowned out by the immense sound of a large buzzer going off, both causing her to jump ten feet in air and signifying her chance of performing a miracle had passed.

"Ohhh, I'm sorry!" the host declared, his amplified voice still struggling against the cheer that had erupted from the crowd. "But I'm afraid you're out of time!"

He strode over to Megan, threw his arm around her shoulder (providing the subtle support she needed to not collapse on the spot) and flashed a grin to the crowd, all his confidence restored.

"And they all know what that means - it's forfeit time!"

The crowd indeed knew what it meant. A quiet chant of "Off! Off! Off!" was building from those watching, gathering pace by the second. The whole game was starting to take on its own shape and speed now, the slim rules stating a contestant was allowed to head straight to the tank (Or even just ditch the show entirely) completely forgotten. Those working on the show would have been powerless to stop what was going to happen next - not that they wanted to.

"I agree, folks! I think it's time for Megan to lose some clothes, strip down, and show us some skin!" the host bellowed.

A very high pitched "what?!" escaped Megan's lips, heard by no-one but herself. She stared to her side at the host in horror, who was now taking a step back with a little wave and bow in her direction. The intention was clear - the stage was now hers. Slowly, she looked down at her jumper and jeans. And finally, she looked out at the crowd, the chant now fully at fever pitch.

"OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF!"

It was Megan's timidity that really spurred her into action; a sense of not wanting to make a fuss, just giving people what they want, no matter how mortifying. Yet this was not the only factor at play. Buried deep within her, but guiding her hand all the same, was a strange sense of honour and humility. She had played the game and accepted things (however begrudgingly) when it had been going her way. If she was truly honest with herself, she had even enjoyed the thrill. Now that the tide had turned, it wasn't fair to cash out and walk away. In a sense, a dark voice whispered in her mind, you deserved this.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion as she made her decision. Firstly, Megan kicked off her dirty sneakers and clumsily peeled off her socks. Next, she slowly unbuttoned her jeans whilst shooting another desperate look at the host, as if looking for him to provide some sort of mercy that was destined to never arrive. Finally, with a little internal sigh, she slowly pulled her pants down and stepped out.

The overall length and bagginess of her jumper hid her underwear from view, but even at just the sight of just her legs the crowd broke out into a cascade of wolf whistles. Megan did not have a supermodel physique, but the subtle plumpness of her thighs and smoothness of her legs were enough to whip up a frenzy. Her toes started to curl inwards with embarrassment, in turn showing her nails off to the crowd, unpainted but perfectly maintained.

The next moment was the big one. From the sidelines it was possible to see the crowd lean in as one, almost taking in a collective breath, as Megan slowly started to lift her jumper upwards. Taking a moment to will whatever strength and courage she could find, and choosing to get this over with as fast as possible, she whipped the top up and over her head and let it tumble to the floor in one swift motion. In response, the crowd let out a deafening roar that could be heard all over campus, startling students from their studies and their afternoon slumber alike.

Megan's boobs, surprisingly ample as they were, were naturally the first thing to draw the eye. They were nestled in a simple black bra with lace trim - practical enough, but with a hint of raciness one would not expect from her meek demeanour. The bra itself was also visibly bulging against the boobs contained within, struggling to contain the sheer size of the things. This struggle was only bolstered by the fact that Megan's haste in removing her top had sent them into a noticeable jiggle, up and down, up and down. This almost sent those men (and some women) in the front rows into a trance, their eyes bouncing up and down to match the rhythm, mouths partially agape.

The bra was coupled with a matching set of panties, again a simple black with lace trim. Their svelte form, hugging Megan's body and slight curviness, was a pleasant surprise to an audience who was expecting a mild disappointment in the reveal of something much more modest.

"Come on, Megan!" the host cried, sensing an opportunity. "Give us a twirl!"

Megan's face, already bright red, found a way to turn redder. Arms planted straight to her sides, her fingers splayed in a slight display of mortification, she nonetheless complied. She stumbled around with no grace or poise, but a show of elegance hadn't been the point of the request amyway. As Megan's rear slowly turned into view, the chorus of cheering and wolf whistles only intensified. Her rounded butt meant her panties had ridden slightly up her arse, revealing more of her plump cheeks than she would have desired. Almost as soon as it had appeared, however, it was gone. The audience was left with nothing but a happy memory - and a pile of new photos on their phone.

"Let's play on folks!" the host cried, bounding back forwards. "Let's give Megan another chance to win big money!"
The crowd cheered in agreement, all momentum now on their side.

"Ok Megan," the host said, turning to face the girl who was now trying harder to sink into the floor rather than listen to anything that was said to her. "In which sport might you see a dead-red converted into a dinger?"

Against all odds, Megan's brain entered a new level of alarm. Not only was it another sport question (Again chosen by 'complete coincidence'), but the host might have well stated the question in French for all she had understood it. This time her mind didn't even make an attempt to dredge up the information - it was still busy trying to process the fact she had just stripped off in front of a crowd of hundreds. All she could do was stare wildly around as the clock ticked ever so slowly down.

The buzzer sounded again, once again causing Megan to jump, acting as the cue for the crowd to go even more berserk. This wasn't helped by the fact it was now growing in size by the moment - students and teachers alike drawn to the noise and, of course, the half naked hottie standing on the stage.

"Oh no, Megan! That's no prize money for you!" The host declared. "But it seems it you have a date with a very mucky fate!"

He moved forward to guide her into the megaslop machine, acknowledging the fact there was little chance of Megan losing any more clothes - but then he stopped. Her reaction to this turn of events had been a somewhat unexpected one. She was still frozen to the spot, but her head was furiously shaking from side to side, her chestnut hair whipping back and forth. This was not an act of outright defiance - it was an impulse act of desperation, an action that highlighted she would perhaps do anything, anything, to get out of what was coming next. Sensing this, and recognising he would never hear the end of it if he didn't try, the host decided to take advantage.

"Oh? No?" he said, making sure to feed in a mock tone of surprise into his voice. "Well, I guess we can give you one more chance..."

A naive flame of hope swooped into Megan's stomach, not recognising (As the crowd had) how that sentence was inevitably going to end.

"...In return for your underwear!"

That blossoming hope in Megan was immediately snuffed, almost as if the roar of approval from the crowd at this new idea had managed to blow it out. Soon enough, a chant now familiar to her gained pace yet again, even louder and more feverous in its repetition.

"OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF!"

It still seemed like a slim prospect, an impossible chance, that Megan would roll with this new turn of events. Yet every instinct, every fibre of her being, was telling her to avoid the megaslop machine with her life. It seemed too far, a final indignity, the last thing that should ever happen. So the twisted logic in her brain, now fried beyond rational though, was starting to see removing her bra and panties as an escape. The fact that she would be standing naked in front of hundreds, still faced with the looming possibility of getting covered in sludge with literally nothing to protect her, was somewhat lost upon her.

Coupled with this was that sense of honour and humility, still playing away, still working against her. She'd got the question wrong. Incorrect answers meant you had to pay the penalty, no matter whether you liked it or not.
And once again, new dark ideas and principles were shifting into being, ones Megan would perhaps never truly accept about herself. The reality was this - she wanted, needed, to win. She had come too far to think otherwise. A lifetime of playing games has driven that desire into her. She had raged at losing online battles, plastered small fake smiles on her lips when family members won on board game night. It had all culminated to now, this make or break moment, and it was coming back to bite her. She wanted that prize money. She wanted that Harry Potter trip. And, most of all, she didn't want to lose.

If was that final thought that made her hand whip up behind her back and unclasp her bra before common sense kicked in. At the moment the clasp was open the bra pinged forward and slid down Megan's arms, almost as if relieved to be free of its burden. Once again, the sheer force of the action caused her boobs to start bouncing merrily away, this time with no restrictions. Her nipples were freed, perfectly round and poking out proudly in response to the chill air, before Megan hastily bundled her arm across them to hide her modesty.

Then, before the audience could even truly start to process this unexpected chain of events, she hooked her remaining free hand into her panties, pulled them down, and stepped out in one swift motion. Again the mob was treated to a brief shot of her crotch, perfectly trimmed and maintained to perfection, before her hand shot over that also.

It has happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that it took a moment for everyone's reactions to truly kick in. Yet kick in it did, the cheers and wolf whistles now almost deafening despite only seeing the briefest shot of the goods. Their laughter and merriment was at wild odds to the naked girl now up on display centre-stage, huddled up and shivering slightly in a desperate attempt to hide her modesty.

It took a moment for the host to recover, a brief look of shock and raised eyebrows an indication he really hadn't expected his ruse to work, but with a twisted sense of professionalism he still quickly realised the next course of action.

"I think you know what to do next, Megan!" he piped up from the sidelines.

Even in her embarrassment she had seen this coming. Slowly and tentatively, still covering herself up as best as possible, she span on the spot again. When her butt appeared, its round beauty and plump curviness now fully on display, another crazed cheer erupted. A few coins and dollar bills were even flung forward, as if this slight payment would be enough to allow their owners to come up on stage and set those cheeks jiggling with a healthy spanking.

"Now, you know what this means". The host calmly intoned, strolling over to the megaslop machine and opening the Perspex door. "I think it's time you were seated and ready to face the all-or-nothing question."

This statement was finished off with a cheery arm wave in the direction of the open cubicle, as if he was doing something as innocent as inviting someone in for a nice up of tea and a chat.

Obligingly, Megan glumly plodded her bare feet over to the machine, giving the audience a chance to marvel at her arse as it swayed in tune with her clumsy, self-protecting walk. Stepping in gingerly, she turned around and sat down, hands still protecting any dignity she had left, a low gasp leaving her mouth in response to her behind making contact with the chill of the metal chair. She glanced around frantically at her tiny confines, Perspex blocking in her on all sides, the open end of multiple nozzles and pipes almost seeming to stare at her menacingly. She even braved a glanced upwards, only for her head to snap back down almost immediately in response. The brief sight of what lay at the top of the funnel above her head, the vibrant hues of seemingly endless gallons of gunge, were a view that was almost too much to bear.

"Here we go Megan - for one thousand dollars or the experience of a lifetime..."

The crowd almost instantly hushed themselves, aware of what now lay on the line. It was a surreal thing; the area had been filled with such vibrancy and noise up until this point. Hundreds of jocks, mean girls and more had delighted in the events up the stage, all voicing their approval, secretly glad it was not themselves in that position. Now, though, the only sounds to be heard were the occasional bird cawing in the open sky.

Megan was as frozen as the rest, a tense breath sucked in, yet to be released. She too knew what was at stake, and as such was trying to compose herself, clinging on to any focus she could find the same way she clung on to her modesty. The thought briefly crossed her mind as to whether anyone could hear her heart thudding away in her ample chest. She had to get this right.

"In the Harry Potter book series, what name is given to someone who can talk to snakes?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed quietly, her held breath practically whooshing out in a moment of sheer excitement. It was a Harry Potter question one of her true loves in the world. She had read every book cover to cover, completed marathons of the movies endless times, and had almost collapsed with glee when she had managed to meet Daniel Radcliffe at a comic convention last year. She had adorned her room at home with as much of her house colours (Hufflepuff, naturally) that she could, and prided herself on being able to ace any Harry Potter quiz that was flung her way. Even her jumper, now laying forlornly at the edge of the stage, was a testament to how much she loved the series. This was practically a 'gimme' question for her, and... And...

She didn't know it.

An icy chill shot down her spine at the realisation. It immediately set her squirming, her exposed arse shifting back and forth on a seat that was already too small for it. Her arms were forced into constantly trying to make adjustments over her privates as she twisted one way then another in discomfort. She briefly wondered how she could forget something so simple, so obvious, somehow not realising that sitting naked in front of a crowd and potentially being moments away from the messiest she'd ever been if her life might be impairing her rational thinking somewhat. The walls on the megaslop machine already uncomfortably close seems to move in closer, as if highlighting the fact there was no escape. The machine above also seemed to start to groan and whirr, mechanisms springing into life to start completing the one task they knew how to do, and could do very well indeed.

She had to say something, anything. Perhaps if she opened her mouth the right answer would tumble out. So, with a deep breath, she plucked up the last shreds of courage that she had remaining, opened her mouth, and...

BZZZZZZZZ!!!

The buzzer sounded. Time was up. The worst was about to happen, and the crowd know it. An explosion of noise pierced the silence that had fallen over them - whooping, hollering, jeering, and more besides. Several paper cups full of half drank booze were flung into the air with reckless glee and abandon. It was like the University football team had won it all, but this time with the added factor of many people hurriedly pulling out their phones and pointing them all one way, ready to record.

"I'm sorry Megan!" the host cried over the din, obviously not being sorry at all. "I'm afraid you haven't won today's jackpot, and that can only mean one thing! Activate the..."

"MEGASLOP MACHINE!" the crowd joined in as one. And, with that final yell - almost the full stop before the finale of Megan's humiliation conga - the machine sprang into life.

It was a hose located near the top of the machine that was triggered first. With little fanfare or warning, it started to pour out a torrent of rich, pink, fluffy goo right into Megan's face. The look of wide-eyed surprise and terror that had lain upon it ever since the buzzer sounded was immediately engulfed. Her mouth, stuck open in a small 'o' of fear, was immediately filled with a mound of the mess, leading to a small "mmppphhh!" of disgusted surprise at she struggled to spit it back out.

Instinctively, she raised her hands to shield again the relentless flow of sticky gloop that was now pumping out the pipe. This turned out to be a mistake for many reasons; the first was that her splayed fingers offered little to no protection against the torrent. If anything, it only allowed it to splatter and stick to other areas of her exposed flesh. The second problem was that by protecting herself in one way, she had now exposed herself in another. Her tits and muff were now freely on show, their slow slathering being captured by endless camera phones and eliciting further whoops of delight from the crowd.

The third problem, and certainly the biggest, was that this did nothing to protect herself against all the other pipes.

After a few moments that felt to Megan to be an eternity, these all sprung to life simultaneously. Each spewed out for fast flows of the fluff, all different colours, all aiming at their own target areas. One shot blue goo with expert precision at her exposed breasts, the ample space on top allowing for a mound of the stuff to pile up before slowly oozing down her nipples and plopping into her lap. Another shot out a torrent of creamy yellow directly at the top of her back, leading to a cascade of coverage all the way down to her arse. In a genius bit of evil design, her bum itself didn't escape completely mess-free. A cunning member of production had long ago taken to drilling holes in the chair itself and had aimed another hose to blast directly through the gaps; rapidly turning Megan's seating experience into a rather squishy one.

And yet there was still more. Two hoses blasted orange out the sides, giving the impression of Megan sitting it out in some sort of twisted car wash. One pumped out white fluff directly on top of her head, immediately matting her chestnut hair down with a weird shampoo-ing, the excess cascading down her face to mix with the pink that had never stopped smacking her mightily in the mush. Finally - and most humiliatingly - a carefully placed nozzle blasted green gloop directly into her crotch, the mix of sensations from the mess itself and the sheer pressure of it pumping against her privates causing Megan to gasp and shudder.

It took all but five seconds for her to disappear correctly, all exposed flesh gone, the shy demure girl replaced by a sludgy, multi-coloured blob. In desperation she started wildly waving her arms in every direction, twisting this way and that in a futile escape to find some mercy. Fluff flew everywhere (Including out the tank, causing the host to jump away in disgust), but nothing worked.

Indeed, her endless squirming just caused splatters in new, weird and not-so-wonderful ways. At one point in sheer desperation Megan even ducked down, only achieving leaning closer to a nozzle to allow for faster and more intense facefuls of sludge. The slight lifting of her buttocks in the act of ducking down had also allowed for the seat to rapidly fill up with fluff, creating an uncomfortable squelching sensation as she lowered her arse back down.

In the end, realising the pointlessness of it all, Megan locked her arms down to her sides, fingers still splayed in disgust, eyes squeezed tightly closed. She suffered in silence as the slop continued to pile up, its cold clamminess enveloping her completely. The only indicator anyone would have had of her revulsion were her feet they were still furiously kicking away, but these too were buried under a pile of fluff that was slowly filling the bottom of the tank and was rapidly approaching her knees.

Slowly, their work well and truly done, the nozzles began to splutter and die out. Megan, slowly realising the small mercy that she had been granted, took the chance to slick the worst of the mess her face, where it settled with a resounding plop on top of a gigantic pile of the stuff that had formed on her lap. It had been a necessary action if only for the chance to freely breath but the sight that was revealed as she prised her sticky eyelashes open was still most unwelcome. All she could see where endless faces laughing, pointing, filming. To them it was almost as if a fluff monster had appeared, its only human feature a face bright red bright with embarrassment and still speckled with foam. Megan panted softly, trying to process all this, her chest rising and falling slightly as stuff oozed slowly through the gap between her tits. She was filled with a mad mix of feelings and emotions, all fighting to come out on top shame. Disgust. Sheer coldness. Even, perhaps, a little indignation. As it turned out, there really was no time to pick these thoughts apart as the ominous clunking sound above her rapidly signified.

Faced with four tanks filled to the brim with different types of gunge and slime, some would think that the most effective means of punishment would be to release them one at a time, prolonging the victim's ordeal. These people, however, were missing the true meaning of the word "megaslop". Instead, with a terrifying speed, all four streams came crashing down directly on Megan's head all at once.

The second the gunk impacted, immediately slathering down her fluffy exterior, any thoughts Megan may have been having were replaced with a high pitched "eeeEEEEKKKKK!" sound. Moments later, that too was smothered, as her mouth filled with muck for the second time that afternoon. Perhaps learning from previous mistakes, no defence was raised this time. Instead, Megan's arms snapped back to her sides. The gunged began its work of slapping and slathering against her skin, quickly covering every inch yet again with a ruthless precision. Despite its work seemingly being done, there was no sign of it slowing down.

To the crowd it was yet another delightful degradation, but it was only Megan who truly perceived how dastardly this colourful coating turned out to be. You see, not all gunge in the megaslop machine was created equal; each was carefully mixed and modelled to create its own particular brand of misery and messiness.

For example, the green tank has been filled with a particularly stringy and sticky mix, clearly the slowest in pouring from the heavens but perhaps the one that created the most lasting impact. This gloop seems to splat and cling on to Megan, showing a surprising resiliency against the rest of the deluge, and enjoying taking its time oozing down different parts of her body. Snotty strands of the stuff hung wherever they could - in particular from her knockers, where every heavy splatter from the tank set them off jiggling, the strands swaying hypnotically in the breeze.

Next came the blue tank. This too was thick, but also poorly mixed - definitely by design rather than accident. The result was that disgusting chunks of the mixture were taking great delight in bouncing off Megan's helpless form. Small bits of it found their way into every nook and crevice they could, and her hair was immediately tangled with the stuff, each globule and gunk ball showing a clear intention to hang around ever after multiple washes. Against her will, Megan twitched and jerked, desperately trying to get rid of the bits invading her ears and nose. Of course, yet again, the end result of this struggle was that more of the chunky gunk was allowed to hit every possible inch of her head.

The red tank held a slightly thinner concoction, this one with one goal in mind - splatter. While the other tanks provided Megan with a damp, clammy and oozing experience, it was the red's job to fly everywhere it could, keeping Megan of her toes. It also provided the audience - already very much enjoying the show - a more visual spectacle. One or two in the crowd (familiar with gunge for very particular reasons) even took particular appreciation of the dome effect the red sporadically created, hiding Megan's head in a comical fashion while crashing instead straight into her crotch. Being slightly thinner also gave it a slight advantage of being able to reach more inaccessible places the thicker stuff couldn't easily reach - it was this tank that was proving most successful at providing a steady stream of stickiness down her butt crack, for example.

The final tank, and perhaps the cruellest, was the yellow one. To the eye it seemed like your basic batch of gristly gunge - not something you'd trade with Megan with to have dumped on your head, but simple all the same. Yet it was this batch that had been prepped in advance and stuck in the university fridges for several hours before finally reaching its final destination. As such, every inch of it was freezing cold, the sheer shock of this causing not only Megan's initial scream, but now a frenzied mix of gasping and panting. When mixed with the other three tanks, which each contained strange warmth, it was also incredibly sneaky and deceptive. Just as Megan seemed to be sinking into a warm (yet not-so-cozy) cocoon, a blast of yellow would chill her to the bone yet again, and she was soon shivering despite herself.

And so it went on, each tank providing its own form of torment, Megan grimacing and twitching right within the heart of it. In a fit of engineering genius, the nozzle of the tank also rotated, the slow spin giving each serving of slosh new target areas and its own chance to shine. The end result of this vile blend created a myriad of little moments. Early on, a particularly icy batch of yellow shot down her back, causing her to instinctively arch forwards and lift her face right into a pile of chunky blue, globs of it bouncing off in all directions. A moment later, heavy splash of red crashed down on her hands. Instinct played against her again, as she listed her arms up in response, revealing the sticky green morass that was hanging from below. And it continued on and on - endless little torments. Endless little humiliations.

Parselmouth, her mind suddenly thought with remarkable, glum clarity. The answer was parselmouth.

Almost in response to this realisation, the foam cannons sprung back into life. The soft foam that pumped out was almost immediately batted away by wave after wave of gunge, but it didn't really matter. This was the final, degrading stage - just throwing as much mess in Megan's direction, little thought given to ideas of effective coverage or impact. The number of directions and sheer amount of mess now was almost incalculable. It bounced off her breasts, hugged against her hips, slopped against her shoulders, battered against her bum. The poor girl essentially disappeared from view for a good five seconds, the inundation so intense as the mess filled up every available space, consequences be damned.

Finally things started to slow and abate, ending with a gummy green strand hanging from the tank nozzle, slowly oozing down on Megan's head. The girl was unrecognisable now, a mess of colours and textures. She was a vague shape only confirmed to be human by the visible 'o' shape of her mouth, created by being truly dumbstruck by the whole experience. Slowly, and comically, she raised her hand to slick of the worst of the mess from her face, and peeled open her gunge-encrusted eyes.

There was the crowd again, mostly enjoying the spectacle, but now there was some with faces showing a mix of horror at how dramatically and efficiently the megaslop machine had served its purpose, and relief they hadn't chosen to take part. It would be a matter of minutes before everyone's reactions were plastered all over social media, along with shots and video from every angle for all to enjoy again and again. Those who weren't present at the scene would eagerly click on to video titles such things as "The most humiliating Megaslop EVER!!1". Others would look back on this day and simply go 'Hey, remember that shy and nerdy girl that got destroyed on that game show thing'? It was the best the show would ever do - all thanks to a girl who had never wanted to be part of it in the first place.

"Sorry Megan" crooned the host, who was not sorry at all. "But thanks for playing! Stay tuned, folks, as we travel onwards to find even more girls willing to risk it all for the MEGASLOP JACKPOT!"

And with that, he sauntered casually off the stage, a cheery tune announcing his departure. As soon as it had all begun, the show was over, normal activity reluctantly resuming. Many students started to rush for classes they were now very late for, the distraction having proved too tempting to resist. Others just wandered off, a slightly bored expression on their face as they stared at their phones, this cheap form of entertainment now expended. Members of the stage crew even started to wander round the stage, some with mops cleaning up errant bits foam and gunge, others starting to coil up wires and pack up equipment.

It the midst of all this remained Megan, basically forgotten. She sat there quietly shivering, a slow stream of red gunge dripping off her nose, a sense of displeasure and rising awkwardness causing her butt to once again subconsciously squirm and squelch in the tiny seat. She looked down sadly at herself. Her lower legs were lost in a putrid pool of multi--coloured plop, each attempted movement of her feet being restricted and slowed by the sheer thickness that surrounded them. Her lap was heavy with the stuff as well, this pile miraculously topped off with a blob of pink foam that had survived the onslaught. It taunted her somehow, acting as a bizarre cherry on top of proceedings. With a slow swipe and distinct "urghhh" sound, she wiped this off to join the rest of the mess. It hardly did anything to help matters, and with a tingle Megan realised she had only helped push it into some very sensitive areas.

"Hey." A very bored-looking girl with bubblegum pink hair had sauntered over to her, paying the clipboard in her hand more attention than Megan herself, her mouth slowly chewing away at some gum. "We don't have any showers. You'll have to take your clothes and wash off at your dorm".

Without apology or warning, she released the clasp on the door, allowing the innards to whoosh out one dramatic, soggy wave (Instantly more cleaners descended, more concerned with cleaning the stage than anything else). The gum girl just stared at Megan's sodden form, impatience clearly on display, and slowly Megan's in-built desire to not make a fuss returned. Slowly, tentatively, she got to her feet. A strange 'schlllooorp' sound could be heard as her arse managed to free itself from the chair. With a timid few steps, she stepped out the machine. Even when she stepped aside of the pool opening the door had created, the only result was that she immediately started to create a separate one, created by the goo that was steadily dripping off every angle of her. Seeing this, one of the cleaning crew let out a small 'tsk', leading Megan to incredibly let out a mutter of "sorry" in response.

She looked back at the gum girl, who was still staring at her blandly, that impatience still etched into her face. Eager to please, Megan slowly looked around the stage, but her discarded clothes (her stripping seemed so long ago, now) were no longer to be seen.

"Uh, My clothes?" she said meekly to the back of gum girl, who was already wandering off, now her task of getting Megan out of the way seemed to basically be complete.

"Hmm?" Gum girl mused, looking around and staring blandly back with little concern. "Oh, guess someone swiped them during the show. Security was meant to be watching out for that. Sorry, I guess."

And with that she was off, down a small flight of steps to the side of the stage and out of sight. Cleaners zoomed around her with little to no acknowledgement. It was clear no help was coming, and Megan was clearly not the sort of person who was going to go around asking for it.

With a defeated sigh, she placed both hands over her exposed crotch (Her boobs seemed to not need the attention, covered as they were) and timidly squelched off the stage. She slowly plodded in the direction of home, every few feet being met with people pointing and whispering in her direction. All she could do in response was hang her head in shame, barely noticing the gungy snot strand that now hung from her chin. Her dorm room and the shower it contained within - were only five minutes away, but to Megan the journey was going to feel like an age. Yet rest assured that when she got there, she'd be locking the door, and she wouldn't be coming out for much, much longer.

END