(This is a re-write of a story that was lost from the original WAM Story Archive. Recreated from my very rusty memory.)
Traffic was light on my way to my afternoon shift managing the small college town grocery store. Typical for a Fourth of July weekend, most of the students were gone for the summer and I was fully expecting a very quiet evening shift, just locals picking up beer, hot dogs, and marshmallows for their parties. Like many graduates, I'd fallen in love with the picturesque university town during school and just decided to stay after graduation. I told myself it was temporary, but I'd graduated three years ago.

As I pulled into the parking lot, I could see something was amiss. There was yellow tape around the construction site on the corner. The store's parking lot was nearly empty and the store was dark. A hastily scribbled sign on the door said "Closed due to power failure." I shrugged to myself and headed to the back entrance to investigate.

Unlike the front of the store, the loading dock was a flurry of activity. A truck from the local food bank was backed up alongside a large dumpster that hadn't been there yesterday. I flagged down the day shift lead, Jennifer. Her usually perfectly kempt brown hair was in a messy ponytail. She stopped her scurrying when she saw me. "The construction crew next door cut through an underground cable, so there's no power to the store expected until at least the day after tomorrow." she groaned exasperatedly.

"Anything I can do to help?" I asked.

"Sure, we've donated all the meat and anything salvageable to the local food bank. Corporate wants us to dump everything else needing refrigeration or frozen because we can't guarantee it's still sell-able. Any chance you want to work tonight emptying out the freezers?" she asked hopefully.

I already had nothing planned, so of course I accepted. "Great!" Jennifer sighed with relief. "Corporate wants us to separate all the recyclables and boxes from the frozen goods and dump the rest in the dumpster." I looked over at the large dumpster, already a quarter filled with wilting produce, the entire day's stock of fresh fish, and milk and dairy curdling in the hot July sun. The smell was already quite strong.

At that moment Rachel, my extremely attractive emo lead cashier joined us on the loading dock. "What's all this?" she asked. Jennifer gave her the recap while I snuck a surreptitious glance at the blonde beauty's shapely lags, fishnet stockings and Doc Martins beneath her store issued black skirt and white blouse. Her green apron tied at the waist accentuated her hips perfectly. I blushed as she noticed my eyes wandering and smirked. Rachel had just graduated and fully expected this to be her last summer in town. I eagerly hoped she'd stay on but still held out hope that once I was no longer a co-worker she'd accept a date with me. She was quite a flirt and I didn't want to presume anything however.

"It looks like you'll have company this evening." I snapped out of my daydreaming as Jennifer addressed me. Rachel chimed in, "Sounds like fun! No customers and we get to play with trash!" she giggled. I smiled back.

By 5 PM the salvageable food was loaded for donation and the food bank truck pulled away. I assured Jennifer we could handle the rest. She looked relieved as she'd planned a big party to watch the fireworks with her family. The bakery's walk-in cooler racks had been rolled into the back room and most of the freezer cases were already empty, the contents sweating as they melted in the hot sun on the loading dock.

Time passed quickly as Rachel and I set into a rhythm, opening frozen food bags or boxes, tossing the packaging in the recycling and dumping the sloppy, now well melted contents into the garbage skip in the warm glow of the battery powered emergency lights. We chatted effortlessly about our hobbies, plans, giggled about colleagues, and talked into the evening well past sunset as we worked. Rachel boldly asked, "So what are your fetishes?" I blushed deeply, "What do you mean?" I tried to play dumb.

"Well, everyone has a kink." Rachel continued looking me straight in the eye. "For example, I'm into BDSM. In fact, I'm a part time Dominatrix when I'm not blessing you with my presence here." she stated matter-of-factly. "Based on my clients, I bet you're a sub." she grinned.

My cheeks glowed fiery red. "Um, not necessarily." I protested.

"Then what are you into?" she asked.

"Uh, I like messy foodplay." I blurted out. She arched her eyebrow approvingly. "We can work with that." she purred. I nervously returned to my unboxing. Rachel disappeared for a moment, then reappeared wheeling the large industrial mixing bowl from the bakery over to where I was standing. She dipped a large rubber spatula into the thick baby blue frosting, withdrew an extravagantly large dollop, and proceeded to swipe it heavily down my cheek. "Do you mean like this?" She giggled.

My manhood leaped to attention instantly, which Rachel noticed. I tried to protest, "No, more like this!" I grabbed a handful and flicked it at her beautiful face. She tried to duck, but was standing too close to the edge of the loading dock. She flailed her arms comically before landing with a wet splat squarely in the disgusting dumpster, only her face and chest remaining above the slop. "Eww!" she squeaked miserably.

I stood frozen, then scrambled to the edge of the dumpster, leaning my arm over to haul my now very smelly colleague back up onto the loading dock where she slipped to her knees in the slop. "DON'T MOVE!" Rachel threatened menacingly. I instantly obeyed. Rachel grabbed the rolling chair, scissors, and a roll of packaging tape from the dock's receiving desk and wheeled it over to me. I shivered as she kneeled down next to me brandishing the scissors, the slop still coating her skirt and hair dripping wetly on my shoes. Starting at the cuffs, she sliced two long cuts along the seams of my pants before undoing my belt. My pants fell away, revealing only my lucky skunk boxers. "Wow, you are a sub, aren't you?" Rachel giggled. I blushed even deeper. She snatched a fluffy strawberry cream pie from a bakery cart, set it on the seat of the chair, stood in front of me and commanded, "SIT!" I immediately sat in the chair, feeling the pie squelch through my boxers and over my thighs.

Rachel next sliced expertly through my work shirt, leaving the shirt's collar and tie around my neck comically. She smirked with approval before grabbing the packing tape and holding the end to me. "Hold this!" she ordered. I obediently held the end of the tape as she spun the chair round and round, the tape's adhesive tugging at my chest hairs and tightly binding my torso and arms to the chair. She added a couple turns around my wrists, securing them to the chair's arms. Finally she retrieved my belt and looped it around my knees, pulling it tight and buckling it just above my ankles. I was trapped.

"Now, I'm going to take my lunch break and get cleaned up. When I get back, you'd better be in this exact spot!" I nodded and whispered "Yes Mistress!" which elicited a warm smile from the beauty. She walked back to the industrial mixing bowl and retrieved the spatula again, this time with a gigantic blob of blue frosting. She dolloped a huge mound of frosting on my head, slapping it wetly into my hair. For good measure, she added another dollop to my lap where my manhood was already straining at the embarrassing boxers. She wiped her hands on my chest and disappeared.

I sat mortified and silent waiting, sure that at any moment a co-worker or worse would wander by and see me bound to a chair beside a loading dock filled with food waste melting in the hot summer night and a gigantic trash dumpster that was already stinking to high heaven. I shifted in the chair, feeling the sticky pie coating my butt tug at my skin as the sticky cream dried.

I glanced around, at least we were almost done, just the melting pallets of ice ream, the contents of the bakery, and the deli foods remained to be addressed. I might still get out of here before midnight. That is, if my captor returned to free me. I needn't have worried however, because soon some very feminine footsteps echoed through the loading dock. A now much cleaner Rachel stood before me with wet hair, but otherwise clean, wearing a black sports bra, tight black running shorts, fishnet stockings, and her trusty Doc Martin boots. She grinned at finding me still here, taking pictures of my messy, bound figure with her phone. I rolled my eyes, "Taking blackmail pictures?" I teased.

"Oh, definitely not!" she assured me. "These are your 'Before' pictures." Rachel grinned wickedly. "We might want to remember what you used to look like." She hummed in her perfect singsong voice as she danced among the discarded messy contents and busied herself collecting supplies for the next part of my torment.

When she was satisfied, she turned her attention to me again. "I'm not sure you realize just how disgusting being in that dumpster was. You're definitely going to find out. But we need to make sure you're ready first." She wheeled a giant bowl of rising dough from the bakery, smelling strongly fermented and frothy from being permitted to rise too long in the hot air. She snapped on a pair of thick yellow rubber gloves and scooped out a giant mound of the sticky dough before setting it on top of my head where it oozed down like a living organism enveloping my head and shoulders, then down to my chest. Taking her gloved hands, she sensuously massaged the thick sticky dough into the roots of my hair. This was never going to come clean! She carefully cleared my mouth and eyes to make sure I could see what was coming next. She tugged the waistband of my boxers away, dropping a huge ball of dough into my lap and massaging it in deeply with a wink. As I strained against my bonds she turned and displayed a massive catering pan filled with baked beans and dumped them over my head and legs. I shivered at the muck and the acidic tomato smell.

Rachel snapped more pictures before starting in on the pallet of melted ice cream. Carton after carton was slid over my head, down my back, and coating my legs. As she reached the five gallon buckets, she noticed one or two were still frozen in the center. These were of course dumped into the front of my boxers. I yelped and scowled at her. She just gave me a playful pout and continued her messy assault.

Soon all that was left was a baking rack overflowing with cream pies. She selected two, grinned, and slammed them into the sides of my head, filling my ears with sticky cream. She took three pies and smushed them in rapid secession into my face, sliding the tins onto the top of my already destroyed hair. The next two went into my chest and lap. Others were smeared slowly down my legs and arms. Down to only three left. She placed two by my feet, untied my shoes, and forced my feet into the sticky cream, still wearing my socks. The final pie she twisted into my face sweetly. She paused, took several more pictures and video of my destroyed and extremely messy state, set her phone safely away on a nearby bench, and proceeded to roll me still bound to the chair to the edge of the loading dock perched ominously over the disgusting smelling food filled dumpster below. She blew me a kiss, placed her foot on my groin, and smoothly, gently pushed me backwards into the slop with a wet slap.

I panicked as my head ducked below the mess, I held my breath as long as I could before feeling hands guiding my head back above the surface. She tipped my chair upright so my chin was just above the disgusting slop. I felt her gloved hands gently swipe away the muck from my eyes. She swung her now once again mess-coated legs over my chair, sitting on my lap in the mire, wrapping her legs around my back. "I never told my my fetish." Rachel grinned. "I like making messes out of guys like you." she grinned before locking my lips in a deep, sloppy kiss.