I lead you to a chair sitting in the middle of the room. Wordlessly, I remove your clothes while you ask "Oh, what are you doing?!", leaving you in your heels and nothing else.

Once you're seated, I tie your ankles to the chair legs, and I tie your wrists together in front of you. Now naked, smiling, and curious as to what happens next (though I bet you have a good idea, and are hoping that what you think happens next actually happens next!), you watch me roll up the sleeves of my shirt. No t-shirt this time, just jeans and a good shirt, open at the collar.

There's a long table with a sheet covering whatever has been laid out -- and I remove the sheet.

Pies. Big, big pies. So many pies, the table is groaning with them. Pie crusts, filled and towering with whipped-cream-frosting, some filled with gooey custard-like whip-cream-marshmallow, some filled with a cream & frosting substance. They're all white, all simply too large and too tall for retail, too wide and too deep for anything other than mayhem.

Some of the pies are so gooey and so full that the cream has started to overflow the sides, and drips down in thick, sticky globs and trails.

At one end of the table, a cake; tall, obviously coated with layers and layers of frosting.

I look at you, very clean, and we lock eyes. I smile a fun, mischievous smile, and walk over and pick up a huge, whipped-cream-frosting pie.

You know what's coming.

I listen to your laughing protests ("Oh, no no no no.. no no no!"), and getting turned on, take a step closer. I know how much you love a pie in the face, and you know how much I love giving you one.

I stand there, enjoying the anticipation, and your smiling protests, and finally ask you a question: "Where are the plans?"

You look confused, and answer "What plans?", sounding resigned to your fate, and I smile. "I see we'll have to do this.. the very messy way, won't we?"

And I smash the pie in your face, around and around, coating and covering every millimeter of your cute, cute face. Pie falls all over you, and the crust sticks to your face! I pull the tin away, and admire our work.

You. Look. Sexy. As. Fuck. Creamed! Pied!! Oh, so so pied. I watch you react, enjoying being pied, and love every second. I watch and listen to your role-play reactions. From a sexy cream-white, gooey and dripping face, you sound shocked from the cool and thick, and sticky, cream. One eye peeks open and looks at me as if to say, "Oh, you did NOT!". Pie has fallen and left white smears and blobs on your shoulders, your breasts, your arms, and finally into your lap. This is just the beginning! You know there won't be any mercy, and once we're done, you'll be completely and massively coated in whipped cream and pies, from your face to your crotch, your ass to your neck, your hips to your feet. By the time this is over, you'll look like you were literally dipped in a huge vat of whipped cream. No inch of your skin will be spared.

And there's nothing you can do about it but smile, and protest, or banter, or beg for mercy -- or beg for more pie.