I TOLD YOU SO: THE SEQUEL



"ARRGHHH! You Son-of-a-Fucking Bitch!"

Ooh Bobby Boner. I am so going to get you for this!

"You FUCKING BASTARD!"

As Sammy Jean sat there, shivering from that deluge of melted chocolate ice cream and cold water I had just poured over her head, she screamed even more obscenities at me.

"OH YOU FUCK . . . ing"

Sammy Jean, my dear friend, my best friend, Sammy Jean, the girl I had loved since grade school, had lost another bet to me. And it was payback time. Ha!

Or as the Thing, of the Fantastic Four would say, "It's clobberin' time!" And ever since Sammy Jean had totally trashed me, back during the summer, when my team lost the NBA championship, I had been looking forward to this day.

Oh, you thought you were so cute, when you dumped all that shit on me after I lost our bet. I never did half that much stuff to you. And I would never have done what you . . .

Even now, looking back on that mauling at the hands of Sammy Jean, I still got red in the face when I thought about how embarrassed I was when she poured all that chocolate goo down my pants, and then had the audacity to showcase my massive hard-on to all our friends.

Well, payback's a bitch, Sammy Jean. Or as the old Klingon proverb goes, "Revenge is a dish best served cold."

"HA! Sammy Jean. I guess the Klingons did have it right. How do you like them apples?"

My messy assault on my best friend began when I poured the melted contents from one of those monster-sized buckets of chocolate ice cream. We're not talking about a mere pint or even one of the one-and-a-half-quart cartons of the frozen treat. No, we're talking about a full gallon, or four quarts of that cold brown elixir.

And I came fully prepared to get my messy retribution on Sammy Jean. I had pulled that chocolate ice cream out of the freezer when I woke up. Two hours later, I brought it in the side door, by my office. Then I put it in the bottom of the mini-refrigerator I kept by my desk. Eight hours later, I knew the sloppy muck would be ready to do its mucky deed on my friend. Ha!

Now, as I looked at the mess I had made of Sammy Jean, I couldn't stop laughing. As that sloppy brown goo made its way down her head and over her face before funneling down to cover her breasts, Sammy Jean was a mess. That beautiful dress, she had first worn to the Kentucky Derby, was ruined. And I knew Sammy Jean would get me back, eventually. But I didn't care. I was having so much fun, and for Sammy Jean, the day was only starting. HA!

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD," Sammy Jean all but screamed. "I will get you back . . . so help me, I will get you back."

"LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME! I'm ruined. My dress is ruined! How dare you!"

But I wasn't done. Not by a long shot. As Sammy Jean sat there with the brown slop running off her ruined dress, I picked up a bucket of water and then without waiting an instant, I threw it in her face. Ha! And that water was cold.

"ARRGHH! You son-of-a-bitch. That is so cold. I will . . ."

But I still wasn't done. I picked up a huge bucket, one of those monster, 5-gallon ones. And it was filled with water so old you could almost visualize ice forming around the rim. I climbed the two steps of the short stepladder that I had placed behind my girlfriend. Still shivering, Sammy looked up at exactly the wrong time. For it was at that moment that I began the pour.

"ARRRGGHHHH . . . oh shit.

"FUCK . . . that is so cold. Oh fuck . . . shit, shit, shit."

That son-of-a-bitch . . . Ooh, you just wait. I will get that bastard. I will. You'll see.

Sammy Jean was soaking wet. Her beautiful blue dress clung to her every shape and curve. Sammy's rock-hard nipples jutted out of that blue cloth like a prized pair of Damascus daggers trying to cut their way out of forced servitude. Her hair, so beautifully done just eight hours earlier, looked like a wet mop hanging down over her face.


OH, the look she gave me. The evil look that Sammy Jean cast upon me would have shriveled a prune into a micro-sized raisin in an instant. She was pissed, really pissed off. And I . . . I was laughing my ass off.

"Oh, Sammy Jean, I told you what would happen to you when it was My turn."

"You do remember that, don't you, Sammy Jean?"

"BITE ME, Bobby. I will get you back. You just wait and see. I will . . ."

But that was as far as she got.

SPA-LATTT!!!

I had picked up a big, sloppy, gooey, chocolate pudding pie. And for me, to wait was wasting time. So, without further ado, I slapped that monster missile of mess into Sammy's pretty face.

And when it hit, that pie hit with the force of a naval barrage from the largest battleship ever built. Chocolate muck instantly covered Sammy's face and then centrifugal force slathered that brown slop up and over most of her scalp. Sammy's new hairdo, already soaked in melted chocolate ice cream and from the five gallons of ice-cold water I poured over her head, was ruined as that slop covered her dark brown hair with a layer of brown gunge. Sammy Jean was a mess, a complete and total mess. Some would even say she was a trainwreck.

"ARRGGHHH! You MOTHERFUCKER ! I will get you for . . ."

SPLATTT!!!

But I laid another of those chocolate muck monsters onto Sammy's face. This time, though, I slathered that stream of brown gunge down her face and onto her beautiful blue dress, covering her boobs with chocolate slop. And just like she had taken such great delight in grinding that chocolate slop all over me back during the summer, I ground this next round of chocolate pudding in really good.

OH . . . You fucking son-of-a-bitch. I will . . . I will get you . . . mark my words . . . I . . . will . . . get . . . you . . . for . . . this.

"Bobby Boner, you just wait. You just wait until I get you back. One day, it will be my turn."

But I just kept laughing.

Soon, however, I gave Sammy a serious look.

"Oh Sammy, I am so sorry. You must forgive me for my lack of manners."

"MANNERS! Manners, what are you talking about, Bobby. What manners?"

"Well, I gave you dessert, but I never offered you the main course. Whatever was I thinking about?"

Sammy did not see me pick up two more of those extra-large chocolate pudding pies as I walked behind her. Nor did she notice that I had stopped walking directly behind where she sat.

"What? What are you talking about, Bobby?"

"Oh, you know, Sammy Jean. The entrée, the main course." After pausing for a minute, I continued, "how would you like a nice sandwich?"

The last I said with a little sneer in my voice. And I was lifting those two gooey monstrosities as I said it.

"What," Sammy said, puzzlement in her tone, "what are you talking about. I don't want no sandwich."

"Oh shit," Sammy Jean said quietly as realization dawned. "Oh, fuck no."

"Bobby Boner, don't you DARE!"

But it was too late. I dared. I did it. With a very loud splat, I planted those two pies into the sides of Sammy Jean's face, one on the right, the other on the left. Chocolate glop splattered everywhere. But I wasn't finished. I ground those pies in, but good, and then I slathered that muck all around Sammy's head and even over the top of it. When I was finished, there wasn't a single inch of her head that wasn't covered with that brown goo called chocolate pudding.

"You son-of-a-bitch."

But she said it so softly, it was like Sammy was barely whispering.

Oh, you fuckin' bastard. I am going to get you for this.

But I wasn't finished with her, not by a long shot.

Picking up another of those muck monsters, I slapped it straight down on Sammy Jean's head.

SPA-LATTTT!!

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

"Well, I didn't want you to catch your death of cold, Sammy. So, I thought I would give you a hat . . . a PIE HAT!"

As she stewed and steamed, I just stood there and laughed.

But then, Sammy Jean, my best friend, got up. She wasn't supposed to do that. Then she picked up a pie, one of those sloppy, really gooey, chocolate pudding pies. And she really wasn't supposed to do that. And as she ducked around that table of mess, Sammy Jean reared back to throw that pie . . . at ME!

And she most definitely wasn't supposed to do that. Sammy Jean had lost the bet . . . fair and square. So, it was my turn to mess her up. But now, Sammy Jean was trying to cheat. Uh uh. No way. So, I beat her to the punch.

From five feet away, I threw one of those sloppy chocolate pudding pies into her face. It hit with a loud splat and what a big mess it made of Sammy's face. Not that you could really tell any difference from the earlier deluge of chocolate.

"Hmmmrph!" My girlfriend said as she wiped the goo from her face. Still holding that pie, she reared back a second time.

And again, I threw a chocolate pie into her face, adding to the messy destruction done to Sammy's makeup.

"Hmmmrphhh!" Sammy said as she, again, wiped the chocolate slop from her face. Once more, Sammy, my best friend, reared back to throw that mighty missile of mess.

And for a third time, I tossed my own mucky brown warhead straight into Sammy's face.

Another round of messy brown goo splattered all over Sammy Jean's face. Wiping as much of that slop off her face as she could, Sammy, once more, reared back to throw her pie at me.

But then, she stopped and shouted, "WAIT." And then, Sammy Jean did something so shocking that it startled me for a few seconds. She took her own pie and slammed it into her face. And then, Sammy stuck her tongue out between her slime-covered lips.

"Hmmm!" It was almost as if she were saying, 'Nah nah, na nah nah.' HA!

So, what could I do. I tossed one more of those extremely gooey, chocolate pudding pies into Sammy's face.

The look my friend gave me was priceless. Putting her hands on her hips, Sammy Jean cocked her chocolate-covered head a little sideways, and gave me this whipped puppy dog look, before saying, "I hate you."

I couldn't help but laugh at the way she said it.

A slight smile crossed her lips, then. She even laughed, just a bit.

But I wasn't finished. I was a long way from being finished with my friend. I picked up a pair of those gooey chocolate pies and walked around the table until I stood in front of Sammy.

"What are you going to do now, Bobby Boner," Sammy said with a snide laugh.

And then, without warning, I slapped those pies onto her boobs, one to the left tit, and the other one to her right. And I ground them in but good.

"I could tell you weren't wearing a bra, so I thought I would help by giving you a pie bra, Sammy."

I was grinning as Sammy, once again, underwent a transformation. A stormy cloud crossed her face.

"Bobby Boner . . . I am . . ."

SPLAT!!

But I had quickly grabbed another pie and slapped it into that magical juncture where Sammy's legs came together. In an instant her entire crotch was covered with brown muck. And I didn't stop there. I ground that pie in, too, and even slathered it around the back so that Sammy's ass was covered in brown glop.

I probably shouldn't have said it, but I couldn't help myself.

"Sammy . . . did you have an accident. Ha!"

"OH, You go . . . FUCK YOURSELF!"

Bobby Boner, I will get you for this. So help me, I will get you if it's the last thing I ever do.

Laughing, I just took my finger and pointed to her chair, and then made a motion that she sit down again. And . . . she did.

Sammy Jean was a mess. Her entire head was engulfed in brown slop. The shoulders of her dress were, likewise, covered in chocolate pudding. Now her boobs and even part of Sammy's belly were inundated by that brown goo, and to top it off her groin and ass areas were messed up, too. The dark brown made a sharp contrast to the blue of her dress. Even Sammy's heels were sporting a heavy coating where that gooey slop had fallen on them. Sammy Jean was a complete wreck. It was going to get a lot worse.

"Oh Sammy . . . oh, Sammy Jeeeannn," I silently whispered into her muck-filled right ear.

"WHAT?" Sammy jerked her head, as if to get away from an unseen force. "What now?"

But then, she looked up. And my friend saw what I had poised above her head.

Oh Shit!

"Bobby Boner . . . you had better not."

"I'm warning you, Bobby. Don't you dare."

He wouldn't. He wouldn't dare . . .

"DON'T YOU DARE!"

But her words had no meaning to me. I dared. I did it. For I held a very large bucket of chocolate pudding over my friend's head. And without waiting one second longer, I dumped all that chocolate mess onto Sammy's head. And since she was looking up, Sammy caught the full deluge squarely in her face.

"Pbtt, pbbt, chtu, pbbt, fuh, fuck, pbbt, chtu, pbbt, fuck. SHIT!"

Oh, you son-of-a-bitch.

"You son-of-a-bitch. Bobby Boner, I am . . ."

Having ingested some of that mucky slop, it took several seconds before Sammy Jean could speak normally again.

"BOBBY . . . I'm gonna . . ."

I couldn't help myself. I started laughing again.

As Sammy Jean sat there, the chocolate pudding ran down her head and off her chin, coming to a rest in her lap, after flowing over her boobs and belly. Sammy Jean was even more of a mess than before. And she was so pissed. I just couldn't contain my laughter.

Oh, you think this is funny, do you. But I will get you. You just wait and see, you fucking bastard. I will get you.

"Bobby Bow . . . nerrr. I am so going to get you. You just wait and see. The next time, it will be MY turn."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You just keep on dreamin' Sammy Jean. HA!"

"Okay, what else do you have for me? Bring it on. I can take anything you have to dish out. Do your best, buddy boy. I can handle anything that you have.

Oh shit!

"What the hell have I gotten myself into," Sammy Jean said, quietly when she saw me pick up that big, big, bucket from behind the table of muck.

Shit. Why did I have to make that stupid bet. I know better. I know Louisville sucks at football. Just because they beat Notre Dame, I had to get . . . oh shit.

Everyone in the captive audience, our friends and co-workers, stood a little straighter when they saw me waddle up to Sammy Jean carrying what was obviously a very heavy bucket. George and Mack from my division were openly laughing. Mary Ellen, from the typing pool had a look of pure joy on her face. They had all run afoul of Sammy Jean on previous occasions. This was like a kind of payback for them.

There were gasps from other members of the audience, as they were more Sammy Jean's friends than mine.

A look of horror crossed Sammy's face as she saw me climb up the step ladder that was conveniently nearby.

"Oh shit. Bobby what is . . ."

"Oh Sammy Jean," I interrupted. I am so sorry. I have forgotten your birthday, AGAIN. Please forgive me."

"Oh FUCK!"

Fuck. I know what's in that bucket . . . Shit! It looks full.

And it was full. That large, 5-gallon bucket was full, to the rim, with chocolate fudge cake batter. And Sammy Jean knew what was going to happen to her.

Surely, he wouldn't. No. Please Bobby don't do this.

"No Bobby. Please don't. I'm begging you."

My friend almost looked like she was praying as she sat there, hands clasped together, and eyes pleading for mercy.

"I am so sorry. Bobby. Please forgive me. I . . . am . . . really . . . sorry."

"Well, the Bible does say to forgive?" I said solemnly while looking down upon Sammy Jean's upturned face.

"Oh, thank you . . . thank you so much, Bobby. I can't tell . . ."

"But the Bible doesn't say I have to forget!"

And then I started the pour. It took me half a minute to pour all of that gooey brown slop over Sammy Jean. She was just able to get her eyes shut in time, but Sammy took that entire barrage of chocolate goo in her face. She didn't try to dodge the flow of brown gunge. She didn't lower her head. To my amazement, Sammy Jean sat there and took the entire load of chocolate cake batter in her face. When I was finished, Sammy Jean was covered in brown goo. And she was shivering, almost uncontrollably from that cold muck.

Finally, after about thirty seconds, Sammy gently wiped the sludge from her eyes. And then she opened them. The look I saw was pure anger.

Oh, is she pissed. I mean super pissed.

"Boy, if looks could kill, I would be a dead man," I mumbled under my breath.

"Bobby Boner . . .," Sammy Jean began, but then stopped. "Bobby, I'm going to kill you. So, help me . . . I will . . . kill . . . you."

I think I was the only one that could hear Sammy, her tone so low and yet so biting, was a sound that would send chills up anyone's spine.

As she sat there, with all the brown goo running down her face and then her body, I saw a look of sheer rage cross my friend's face.

Fuck.

Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound, I always say. She can only murder me once. Ha!

"You son-of-a-bitch. You fucking bastard. I'm going to get you for this. Next time it will be MY TURN! And then I will fuck you up so much nobody will be able to recognize you. This is going too far."

But I was still pissed from the last time Sammy trashed me.

"Too far. Too far. Did you say, 'too far,' Sammy Jean," I said with a look of incredibility.

"Did you really say, 'too far.'"

"I haven't gone far enough, YET!"

Then, I reached down, under the table of mess, and pulled out a large bowl filled with even more chocolate slop.

"You know, Sammy Jean, my momma always said, 'a cake isn't a cake without frosting.'"

"Oh no, you're not . . . FUCK!"

The last coming because Sammy Jean saw me reach in that bowl and scoop out a big, heaping handful of that sloppy, gloppy, brown goo. And then, before she could say another word, I slapped it onto her mucky face. Again and again, I smeared that dark brown chocolate onto Sammy's mucky face, finally finishing by pouring the remainder over her head. The sloppy but stiff frosting almost formed a brown crown on Sammy's head.

"You bastard . . . I HATE you!"

But I just gave her a smirk.

You think you hate me now, wait and see what else I have in store for you, Sammy Jean.

As Sammy Jean sat there, covered from head to toe in chocolate filth, I pulled out another large bowl, with even more chocolate slop in it. This was an idea I had gotten from Sammy Jean back during the summer when she was having her heyday at my expense.

"What's that, Bobby Bow-ner?" Sammy Jean said rather snippily. "More chocolate slop, no doubt."

"Yes," I replied. "Actually, it's an idea I got from you."

"What!" Sammy Jean replied as if it was a burden to do so.

"Yeah. It's chocolate fudge sauce. Ha! But I did one better."

"Oh yeah, how's that," she came back with a smirk on her face. How's it 'one better?'"

"Simple," I said behind my own smirk. "I got more of it."

I had found a place online where I could get the chocolate slop in three-pound bags. There were four of them to a case. And after nuking it in the microwave oven, those twelve pounds of chocolate sludge became very, very pourable.

Then, without another word, I started pouring that chocolate slop over Sammy's head. Twelve pounds of mucky chocolate sauce can do a number on a person. It was runny, it was pourable, and yet, that sludge stuck. Although it ran down Sammy Jean's body, it did so at a snail's pace. I know Sammy Jean got me good during the summer, but now I had twice as much of that slop. And after coating Sammy Jean's head and face, as she had turned her face up, again, to take that sloppy stuff on her face, I reached out and pulled open Sammy's dress. Then I finished the bowl by pouring the goopy chocolate onto her boobs. And everyone knew Sammy Jean never wore a bra.

Ha! Let's see how you like it, Sammy Jean.

"Ooh . . . you fucking bastard! I'll get you for this."

And when I finished the pour, Sammy Jean had one more layer of chocolate muck covering her head, her face, and even her tits. And I saw even more anger behind those dark brown eyes of Sammy Jean.

"You know what . . .," I paused as if a thought had just struck me.

"WHAT?" Sammy Jean replied, rather snippily, "you fucking asshole. What could you possibly have to say that I would want to hear."

"Say! Say, nothing really. I don't have anything to say . . . well, except that you look so dark and foreboding, what with all that dark goo covering you."

"I think a lighter color is needed, don't you?" I said as I pulled out a super-sized container of Nutella. And naturally I had nuked it so that slop was pourable.

"How would you like some Nutella," I asked, but before Sammy Jean had time to respond, I poured it all over her head. And as that chocolate goo, that kind of resembles a darker peanut butter, ran down her face and off her chin, I held open the top of her dress so it, too, could run down and onto Sammy's boobs.

"Shit . . . you son-of-a . . .pbbt, pbbt, grkh, pbbt . . ."

Sammy's words were choked off as she ingested some of that sloppy chocolate/peanut butter-like stuff as she was trying to talk.

Fuck! I hate that bastard. I am going to . . .

When Sammy Jean finally regained her breath, she didn't say anything for a long time. Sammy just glared at me. It felt like her eyes were shooting poisoned darts into me.

Finally, she opened her lips, as if to speak.

"Are you done, yet?"

Boy, it's a good thing she can't just WILL me to death, or I would be pushing up daisies.

"Well, now that you mention it . . ."

"WHAT? Haven't you done enough to me. Don't you think you have more than paid me back?"

"Well, there is another thing," I said as I walked behind Sammy and picked up another of those really large buckets. This one was full of liquid chocolate, so dark as to almost appear black.

"I know how much you like Hershey's chocolate syrup, Sammy Jean, so I bought a lot of it, like sixty pounds of the stuff.

Oh Fuck. I am so screwed.

"Bobby, you can't do that to me. That's not fair." And then she added very quietly, I didn't use nearly that much on you.

"Yeah, but you're the one who escalated this. You're the one that went outside the boundary. You're the one who cheated. You're the one who blew this all out of proportion. You just had to embarrass me. And you showed everyone that I had a really big hard-on."

After a pause, I continued, "you brought this on yourself."

Then I climbed that ladder and poured all that chocolate slime over Sammy's head. And unlike the other messes, where I took my time, this one was done fast. I upturned that big bucket and dumped that chocolate goo over Sammy Jean's head, all at once.

And if you think it was difficult for me to lift that sixty-pound bucket of chocolate syrup over Sammy's head, think about what it was like to be on the receiving end of that sloppy deluge. The slime almost knocked my friend off her stool.

FUCK! You SON-OF-A-BITCH!

"FUCK!" Sammy Jean screamed as all that goo hit her. As she started to slide off the stool, the muck-covered woman screamed at me. "I'm going to KILL you, you son-of-a-bitch!"

"Do you hear me, Bobby Boner, I'm going to kill you!"

As Sammy Jean got to her feet, her dress just slid right off her goo-covered body. She didn't even try to catch it, and then as everyone watched, Sammy Jean was turned into a, half-naked, chocolate-coated, woman. And in that instant, I remembered the Venus de milo statue of Aphrodite in the Louvre Museum of Paris, France.

She looks like an old-time Greek goddess . . . just like Aphrodite, daughter of Zeus.

Oh, that Bastard . . . that fucking bastard. I'm going to kill him. If I ever get my hands on him, I will . . .

As she stood there, in stark relief, Sammy Jean seemed not to notice that she was half-naked. The sheer weight of all that chocolate mess caused Sammy Jean to have a wardrobe malfunction. Ha! Her ruined dress lay in a puddle of chocolate goo at her feet. And I was laughing my ass off.

Despite the total coverage of chocolate all over her, everyone could tell that Sammy Jean's magnificent breasts were not clad in a bra or other restraining device. And we could also see just how excited my best friend was. Her nipples were hard as a rock.

As I looked at the mess that Sammy Jean had become, I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction.

Ooh . . . I got her back. But good. I got her back good. HA!

Now, as Sammy Jean stood up, with all that dark, sloppy goo running off her, I called out to her as she turned to walk away.

"Hey Sammy Jean."

"WHAT?" she shouted as my best friend turned towards me.

SPLATTTT!!!!!

"Oh nothing, I was just saving that pie for last," I said as I slammed the final chocolate pudding pie into Sammy's face. Remembering what she had done to me, I added, "payback's a bitch, isn't it?" The look on her face was . . . how did that commercial go? Oh yeah, it was priceless. HA!

Oh, you fucking bastard . . .

"Oh, I am going to get you, Bobby Boner," Sammy snapped at me. "You just wait and see! Next time, it will be MY turn."

"Yeah, maybe," I came back. "But there is just one more thing."

"WHAT!" Sammy Jean made it sound like a statement rather than a question.

"Well, you do remember the terms of the bet was, 'winner gets to do anything he or she wants,' right?"

"So? What's that got to do with anything . . ."

Oh, fuck . . .

Sammy Jean had seen me pick up one of those monster 5-gallon buckets.

"Bobby Boner, what are you going to do," my friend asked, a little tightness in her voice.

"ME," I said in reply, "I'm not going to do anything. You, though, are going to take this bucket and fill it up with all that chocolate slop you are standing in."

"WHAT!"

"Yeah, you're going . . ."

"NO. NO, there is no way I'm going to do that. You can't . . ."

Just as Sammy Jean interrupted me, however, I cut her off in mid-sentence.

"Yes, you are. Sammy. You do remember our bet, right?"

Fuck. He can't. Shit . . . oh hell.

With a look of resignation, Sammy Jean took that bucket and then started scooping up that chocolate glop that was almost six inches deep where she stood. Finally, she got down on her knees in all that gooey muck, and just scooped it into the bucket until it was half full.

Looking at me with a quizzical look, I picked up a small bowl and handed it to her.

"SHIT . . . you're really going to make me fill it . . ."

"Yes dear . . . all the way." And I snorted out a half-chuckle, half-laugh.

"All . . . The . . . Way!"

Fuck . . . fuck this, Shit

But my friend continued filling up that bucket. After several minutes, with me looking on, Sammy Jean finally had that 5-gallon bucket completely full She had it filled to the brim.

And I was grinning like the cat that had swallowed the canary.

"What now . . . Bobby Boner?" Sammy said rather snippily.

"Well, I want you to put that bucket right here," and I showed her where by putting my foot in the center of all that brown sloppy muck on the floor. Then I helped Sammy Jean slide that heavy bucket of mucky brown slop to the center of all that sloppy goo.

"Now, Sammy Jean," I said, "I want you to get down on your knees and, well . . . then you dunk your head into that bucket of chocolate."

"Oh fuck," Sammy whispered. "Do I have to?"

"Yes, darling." I said. "A bet is a bet."

"I know," Sammy said with a sign, "But . . ."

"Oh Fuck!"

And then before I could say or do anything more, Sammy Jean dunked her head into that sloppy glop.

And she didn't do no half-ass measure either. Sammy dunked her head all the way under that chocolate goo. As her head went further under, brown slop came up over the top of the bucket and rolled down onto the floor. When Sammy Jean came up for air, her head was even more saturated with chocolate goo than before.

WOW!

"Wow!" What more could I say. Chocolate slime ran off Sammy's head and all down her half-naked body. That pretty blue dress she had started the day with, lay ruined in that huge puddle of chocolate mess on the floor.

As Sammy Jean stood there, gulping in fresh air, I looked upon her heaving chest, covered with chocolate slop, and her nipples stood large and hard under all the fresh chocolate goo that was running down her body.

"Wow"

Wow, you look amazing, Sammy. Simply amazing.

"What . . . what . . . what more, do you want, Bobby?" Only this time, there was no surely attitude. In fact, I detected a faint smile come across Sammy's muck-covered face.

Then before I could say anything, Sammy Jean, my girlfriend, the love of my life, dunked her head in that sloppy muck again. But this time, when she came up, it was with both hands on that 5-gallon bucket. As she rose, she kept her hands underneath the bucket so that it tilted forward, spilling its mucky contents onto her upturned head. When she had completely straightened, that bucket was upside down. And all its mucky chocolate contents flowed down her head and then her face and then over her boobs, before finally splattering all over the floor in front of her.

And do you know what Sammy Jean did then. She left that bucket on her head, with the remnants of that chocolate goo still dripping down her body. And she put her hands on her hips, and said, "Anything, else, Bobby"

After thinking for a few seconds, I replied, "No . . . uh, no . . . No, I can't think of anything else, Sammy Jean."

Then Sammy Jean lifted that now-empty mess bucket off her head and tossed it aside. As I looked at my girlfriend's goo-covered face, with all that messy chocolate slop running down her muck-covered body, I was amazed at the transformation that she had underwent. Instead of a surely, if not downright hostile look on Sammy's gunge-coated face there was a look of peaceful bliss, almost tranquility on her face.

Wow, she looks downright happy.

Now Sammy reached down in that chocolate muck on the floor and grabbed a couple of big handfuls. This she smeared on her body, starting with her thighs, then moving up to her magic spot, that juncture where her two legs came together. From here, she slathered that brown gooey slop onto her chocolate-soaked belly and then finished with a complete covering of her chocolate-coated breasts. As Sammy slathered that chocolate onto her boobs, and even played with her nipples, she gave me a bewitching smile.

"Take a good look, Bobby Boner. Take a good long look, Bobby Boner. Because . . . this time, it will be . . . the last time you see them. HA!"

"You're time's coming, Bobby Boner. It's coming. Just you wait and see. Ha!"