You pull out your phone and check the text that he sent you for what must be the third or fourth time since you arrived - this is definitely the right house, though you can see no signs of movement within. You're five minutes early, and don't dare go and knock on the door yet. His instructions were very specific - arrive at 3pm exactly, not a minute early, not a minute late.

Finally, tortuously, the minutes tick by and 3pm arrives. You walk up to the house, and are surprised to see that there's a piece of paper pinned up on the door.

'Well, what are you waiting for?' it asks, 'Get inside and close the door.'

You open the door and step into the house, closing the door behind you. Inside, you find yourself in a small hallway with two doors leading off it, both closed. The hall is empty, save for a chair. On the chair sits a cardboard box, and on top of that another piece of paper. You pick it up and read it.

'You've made it this far, well done. But now the real fun begins. Inside this box are a number of items. You are to strip down to your underwear, open the box, put on each item within it, then stand in front of the door opposite awaiting further instruction. Be quick about it, for you are being watched.'

You feel your face flush as you read the note, and for a moment consider turning and walking out of the door, but this passes. You've come this far, and have spent days consumed with thoughts of the mess that's about to be made of you. You can't let nerves get the better of you now.

So you find yourself taking off your clothes, folding each one and placing it down next to the chair as you go. Standing there in bra and panties, you lift the lid of the box to see what's in store for you. The first item that you pull out is a spreader bar, an ankle restraint attached to each end. Next comes a pair of handcuffs. They have a quick release mechanism on them, so you know you could undo them at any point. A nagging voice in the back of your mind, however, tells you that you are unlikely to want to undo them. Next comes a gag - not a normal ball, but a bit gag. You know from bitter experience how humiliating these can be, forcing their subject to drool uncontrollably. Finally, a blindfold rounds off the package.

You take the items an stand in front of the door to put them on, realising that there's no way you could walk there wearing the spreader bar. You put each item on in turn - first the bar, then the gag. You pause for a moment over how to get the blindfold and the cuffs on, deciding eventually to cuff your hands in front of your body, then put the blindfold on after that.

You stand in front of the door for what seems an eternity, feeling nervous and helpless, yet unable to stop yourself being turned on. Finally, you hear a faint click, and the sound of footsteps - someone has come in through the door behind you. You hear them walking up behind you, and then they stop. Without warning, you feel a hand grab the back of your hair and pull it back sharply, so that your face is turned upwards.

'You've put the handcuffs on the wrong way. That's your first transgression, and it won't be forgotten.' The voice is deep, masculine, exactly how you'd imagined him talking when you'd been exchanging countless late-night dirty emails.

You attempt to stammer an apology, but the gag means that only a muffled grunt comes out. Your face goes bright red as a wave of embarrassment runs through you. You start to undo the handcuffs, and manage to bring them behind your back, but fumble doing them back up. His hand takes your wrist and attaches the cuff to it.

'Now, are you ready for what comes next?'

You nod, staring at the floor as shame overtakes you. Not shame about what you're about to do, but shame at the knowledge that you're going to enjoy it so much.

His hand takes hold of your hair again, but this time more tender as he leads you through to another part of the house. The bar around your legs stops you moving at anything other than a waddle, and another wave of humiliation washes over you as you walk.

You feel the texture of the floor change on your bare feet, and it's obvious that you're now walking on a plastic tarpaulin. He stops pulling you by the hair, and you feel his hands on your shoulders, pushing you down into a seat. You feel rope on your skin as your ankles and wrists are tied to the chair legs - as if you weren't already bound well enough.

'I'm going to take the blindfold off now - I want to see all of your beautiful face as I cover it in slop.'

The blindfold is removed from your eyes, and you throw you head back to shake the hair out of your face. With that gone, you have just enough time to take in the scene.

In front of you sits a table, laden down with pies, puddings, and bucket after bucket which you assume is full of mess. Behind that, a large mirror affords you a view of yourself, tied to the chair and gagged. Behind you he stands, holding what looks to be a bowl in each hand.

This is all you can take in, however, as his hands come swinging down, and the contents of the two bowls engulfs your face. You squeal as he rubs the creamy, sticky mass in, covering every bit of your face and hair. Some of the mess has managed to get into your mouth, through the gag, and you find yourself burning red again as you realise that the taste is of chocolate - how did he know?

As if reading your mind, he says 'I heard that you had a thing for chocolate trifle. Is it turning you on?'

You nod your head vigorously, unable to disguise how horny this is making you.

'I can tell - the wet patch on your panties is a dead giveaway.'

More shame, then a whisper in your ear. "We'd better cool you down a bit then, don't want you peaking too soon.'

And with that, your panties are pulled away from your body, and a freezing cold substance is poured in - one that you recognise at once as ice cream. You gasp at the shock of the cold, then again at the feel of it running down your pussy, pooling underneath your asshole.

Without warning, as you're still recovering from the shock, a wave of mess cascades down over your head. You get a taste as it oozes down you, and think you taste custard.

Next, you feel a hand slip inside your bra, rubbing something slippery and smooth over your tits.

'More chocolate,' he whispers.

The hands carry on rubbing, massaging the chocolate into your tits, forcing you into a moan of pleasure.

Then abruptly, it stops. You hear him walk away, and wait eagerly for the sound of his return. It doesn't happen straight away, and as the minutes tick by, you feel let down - you've got a yearning for the mess now, a need to be covered.

After a time - it could be minutes, it could be hours, your mind has started to play tricks on you now - he returns. You feel his hands on your face, sliding the mess from it, and then the feel of a towel being used to clean your face off. For the first time since it began, you can see again now - finally take in what a sodden mess you are.

But that's not what's taking up your attention. What's taking up your attention is the fact that what just happened to you has barely made a dent in the mess that's laid out in front of you. He sees you looking at it, sees the desire in your eyes and smiles.

'You'd like more of it wouldn't you? You'd like me to cover you in every single thing on this table.'

Shamefully, you nod your head.

'Then tell me. Tell me you're a messy slut and you want to get covered.'

You try and speak, but again the gag has muffled your speech completely.

'I can't hear you,' he taunts.

Again you try. Again all that comes out is a muffled sound. You wonder whether your face could get any redder - it's so humiliating knowing that he knows how much you want this, how transparent your desire is, and you unable even to say the words. He laughs, then walks behind you and undoes the gag.

You breathe in a deep breath, glad to have the gag off for a moment, then blurt out, "I'm a messy slut and I want you to cover me in all the mess on that table. I need you to cover me in all the mess on that table.'

Through all of this, you can see yourself in the mirror. See yourself covered in mess and begging for more, but you've ceased to care. All that matters now is that he dumps every last bit of it on you.

Walking back to the table, he picks up a pie, weighs it up, then turns and pelts it directly into your face. Cream explodes over you and your mouth opens wide in shock, turning quickly to a broad smile.

'More,' you beg, 'please more.'

He picks up another and throws it, then another and another after that. Each time you feel the weight of the pie slamming into your face, feel the cream splatter over you, you let out a small yelp of pleasure. You feel another bucket being poured over your head - maybe pudding, maybe cake batter, it's hard to tell - and feel it slide down your body.

You feel his hands take yours behind the chair, then the feeling of the cuffs being undone. Then the ankle restraints and spreader bar are gone - he knows that there is no need to have you tied up any more, you aren't going anywhere. He stands you up.

'Time for the rest of the clothes to go,' he commands.

You slip your panties down, leftover ice cream dripping onto your fingers, then undo your bra. You stand in front of him, naked and covered.

He takes you by the hand and leads you a few paces, then forces you down onto your hands and knees. Then his hand on your hair again, forcing your face down into a bucket full of slop. Time and again, he dunks your head into the bucket, dragging it back up just in time for you to take a deep breath, then shoving it down into the mess again.

He lets go, and a few seconds later, you feel pies slap into your face and ass. The cold cream feels amazing smeared over your bottom. Still on your hands and knees, you now feel his fingers slipping inside your pussy, rubbing the mess, then pulling out and finding your clit. You start to moan as he begins to rotate his fingers, first softly, then ever-louder as he speeds up.

But again, just as soon as he's started, he stops. He says nothing, but you understand what remains unspoken: it's not time for you yet.

Just as you're beginning to wonder what comes next though, you feel his cock slide into your pussy, fucking you harder and harder. Your remain on your hands and knees, and feel more mess ooze down your back and head as he fucks you, then the feel of him tensing as he cums.

He removes himself and stands up.

'Well that was enjoyable,' he tells you, 'now, the shower's through there, and I expect you gone in ten minutes.'

Your face crumples - you can't believe that he'd just turn you loose like that, after what's just happened. And, shamefully, you can't believe that he'd let you go without an orgasm. He must see this though, and as your face crumples, he laughs, and you understand - he's taunting you again.

Taking your hand, he leads you through to another room. This one's bare, except for a TV on one wall, and another plastic sheet covering the floor. Above the sheet, a bucket dangles from the ceiling, and from that, a violet wand hangs. It's clear that the only way to get the wand is to pull down on the bucket - sending its contents cascading down over you.

'In there is something that I'm pretty sure you don't want poured on you. But I'm also pretty sure that before you leave the room, you will have willingly covered yourself in it because, well, you'll have been unable to stop yourself,' he tells you.

He sits you down on the floor underneath the bucket, then puts on the TV. It's blurred at first, then suddenly comes into focus. You see yourself, blindfolded and gagged, tied to a chair, and realise for the first time that he's filmed the whole thing.

At first, you feel another wave of shame hit you, as you see yourself sitting there, ready for the mess. But as you watch the chocolate trifle being rubbed into your face, watch your panties being opened wide and see the ice cream pour into them, you begin to become uncontrollably aroused, and by the time you're watching yourself have chocolate spread rubbed into your tits, your hand has slipped down and is working your pussy as fast as it will go.

As your fingers move faster and faster, and you get closer and closer, you realise how much you want the wand to finish you off - how much you need to wand to finish you off. Trembling, your hand reaches up and grabs it. As you pull down, the bucket tips, sending a deluge of spaghetti right over your head. You can't believe it - through all your talks, you'd always made clear that this was off the table. Nothing savoury had been your explicit instruction. But now, on the verge of orgasm, you can't let even this stop you, as you bring the wand to your pussy and reach juddering climax.

As you lean back in satisfaction, you catch sight of him standing in the doorway, smiling. Though you know you look a state, covered in spaghetti and thoroughly humiliated, you can't help but smile back - safe in the knowledge that he's absolutely done you.