I was recently working on a story for a friend on here to push his buttons and I thought "hey, it's been ages since I wrote something to solely press MY buttons" so this is the product of that! Maybe some of you might enjoy it too, idk.

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"How does it feel knowing that tomorrow I'm going to completely obliterate you with pies and slime?" he whispers into my ear, brushing my hair through his fingers as he speaks. I struggle to conceal the shudder of pleasure that shoots through me, starting from my clitoris and coursing through my veins.

"Nervous," I giggle, crossing my legs in the hope of containing the ecstasy building in my panties, "but excited. Nervously excited or excitedly nervous, either one or both of those, I guess..."

God. Why am I so awkward? This is a dream come true for me - a wam model I've crushed on for years about to make me his victim come the morning - and I'm here yammering away like the goofy trainwreck I know I am. I shouldn't have had all that beer this evening.

He just laughs at me with a gentle smile and says "I'll let you get some sleep. You'll need all your energy for tomorrow, I've got a lot in store for you!"

And yet it's so hard to sleep. Things like this don't happen to girls like me. I'm not a natural model; I may have cracking 36DDs, but there's definitely some extra fat around my belly and my face is just so, well, round and cutesy. I mean, the closest I come to working out is running for a bus, which hardly screams "model". But he's assured me that there'll be a market for my complete destruction and humiliation, stomach rolls and all.

This is all I've ever wanted since my first pubescent sex dreams about being nailed with a pie and then submerged in a vat of gunge, often alongside a popstar - Tina from S Club 7, Ben from A1. Even at such a young age I lusted after every gender. And now in my mid-20s I'm still that same bisexual slut for mess. Only now it's happening in real life, not just my dreams.

When I wake up the next day, I'm horrified at the clothes I find he's left me to wear. Instead of underwear, there's an insanely skimpy gold bikini, with skintight leggings and a completely sheer mesh crop top to be worn over it. I'm not sure I have the confidence to wear something so figure hugging and revealing, and my self esteem plummets even further as I see the note he has left me with the outfit:

"Don't worry, I bought all these in extra large to be sure your fat ass would fit into them."

The blood rushes to my face with mortification, but also a curious undercurrent of arousal from feeling so abused and humiliated. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I take a long shower, savouring the feeling of cleanliness which I know will be hard to regain after whatever he has planned for me. Then I dress and do my hair and makeup as best I can, curling my boob-length brown hair and putting on a smear of harlot red lipstick. I'm happy with the finished effect, I could almost pass as sexy if you didn't notice my gawkiness or my inability to walk in these heels.

I'm scared to find out what lies ahead of me in the rest of the apartment, but the anticipation is so all-consuming that I can't help but be turned on by it, so I open the door to the lounge and accept my messy fate.

There's a stool on a tarp in the centre of the room with two cameras pointed right at it. I gulp audibly as I notice what appears to be a bakery cart hidden under a sheet and the shape of a small inflatable pool beneath another cloth.

"I guess you'll do," he says, appearing from behind me with a twisted look on his face as he runs his eyes up and down my body. "Are you ready for this? I'm not going to go easy on you just because you're a girl!"

"I'm ready," I reply, hoping he doesn't hear the tremors in my voice.

He takes me by the hand and walks me over to the stool, sitting me down and checking that I'm in full view of the cameras. My heart is pounding so loudly as he presses record.

"I know you're a fan of my videos, Em, that's why I've asked you here today." He turns on the charm for the cameras and I'm instantly swooning over him again. Fuck my self-control, or lack thereof. "I bet you've had a good laugh at me over the years, maybe even touched yourself while watching my misfortune."

"Um," I'm not sure how to reply.

"You have, haven't you?" he persists, putting a hand on my shoulder. "You've got yourself off to me being messed up and degraded. Some friend you are!"

"I'm sorry," I say, shifting about on the stool with nervousness.

"How do you think you'd like it? How would you like being pummelled with desserts until you're unrecognisable for the enjoyment of some twisted fucker on the internet?"

The growing dampness around my crotch screams that I'd adore it even as I shake my head pleadingly.

"How would you like to be fucked and used while you're drenched in slop, with no way to end it other than to admit defeat and allow yourself to be brought to orgasm on film?"

I shake my head and mumble protests again despite the aching deep within me to be defiled so utterly.

"I think we should find out," he says, producing a set of handcuffs and securing my wrists together behind my back.

"Please," I make myself say, "I'm truly sorry I enjoyed those videos of you being messed up and stripped, you don't have to..."

SPLAT! I can't finish my sentence for the cream pie which is unceremoniously smashed into my face and then slowly smeared around. The cold of the thick cream against my skin feels so good as it oozes and envelops all of my features, beneath the harsh scratch of the shattered crust. My mouth hangs open in horror as the foil tin is finally pulled away.

I blink to try to clear my eyes but to no avail; I'm completely blinded by the mask of cream that's been pounded into my skull. As such, I have no warning for the pie that is then flung at me, sending my head rocking back in shock as the cream explodes outwards into the curls of my poor hair and up over the top of my head. I even feel drips of cream spurting down onto my cleavage and soaking through the mesh of my top.

"That's what you deserve for delighting in my misery, you bitch," he says, planting another pie down onto my head like a hat. I let out a groan as I feel the butterscotch pudding filling creeping down my face and the back of my neck.

Without even taking the foil tin from my head - he clearly wants me to look as ridiculous as possible, I realise - he pulls me to my feet and slides a cake onto the stool before forcing my arse down onto it with a firm shove of my shoulders. I can feel the thick buttercream frosting of the cake oozing around even through my leggings, and let my head hang in shame at how much I'm enjoying the sensation, sending the pie tin clattering to the floor.

He pulls me to my feet again and spins me around to show my messy behind off for the cameras, giving me a hard slap on the butt for good measure. Tears form in my eyes from the sting his hand leaves, but he doesn't care as he throws me back down onto the cake on the stool, like I'm just a rag doll to be played with and used.

"It's not so fun when you're on the receiving end, is it?" he scoffs, wiping my eyes so I can see him picking up a huge bucket. I didn't think it was possible to feel my pussy get any wetter, but contemplating the contents of the bucket sends another throb of ecstasy to my clit. With every second that passes as he lifts the bucket over my head and starts to tilt it, I can feel the aching lust in me building.

The green coloured cake batter is colder than I could have ever imagined and I half squeal, half giggle as I lift my chin up to allow my face to be completely doused. This is so much more than pouring a little jug of custard over my own head, as I have in the past, the stream of slime just keeps coming and seems to engulf my entire body as it creeps down my hair and skin. I'm aware that I'm making a ridiculous moaning noise as it starts to pool in my lap and creep through the mesh of my top and into my bikini.

"We might as well take that top off since it's completely destroyed," he says, uncuffing one of my wrists so he can pull it off over my head. When I'm firmly restrained again, he wipes my eyes so I can admire the filthiness of my ample tits, which are barely held in place by the now green bikini top. He scoops a handful of chocolate frosting and deposits it into one cup of the bikini, taking as much of my boob in his hand as he can grasp and smearing the chocolate into my skin. The process is repeated for my other breast, and I can barely contain myself from the feeling of his hand slicking rapidly melting chocolate over my erect nipple. He takes a can of squirty cream and sprays as much into each triangle of fabric as it can take, watching with a smirk as I squirm from how cold it is.

I am caught off guard as he suddenly moves the nozzle of the can down into the top of my leggings and sprays the rest of the cream into them. The Lycra refuses to accommodate this influx of muck, forcing it to creep into any space it can find, which happens to be mostly around my crotch.

I'm trying to resist rubbing my thighs together to enjoy the sensation of the cream inside my leggings when a sandwich of pies is slammed onto my face moments before another pair of pies are slammed onto my boobs. I'm buried under a mound of cream and pudding and crust, with nothing visible but the horrified "O" of a mouth.

"You can be as appalled as you like, it doesn't change the fact that this is exactly what sluts like you having coming to them," he teases as he starts to drizzle a bottle of chocolate syrup over the pile of pie on my head. Again, he makes sure to get some into my leggings, having noticed how hard I'm finding it to refrain from allowing the textures around my bikini bottoms to drive me wild.

Without warning, he stands me up again. The cake my arse has been grinding into is taken from the stool and shoved into my face, adding frosting and crumbs to the heap of muck obscuring my features. Even as I'm contemplating how sore my neck is getting from supporting the additional weight of all the gunk plastered on to me, I feel my leggings being ripped down to my ankles. My heels are removed to ease the process of getting the leggings off and over my feet, but I still totter about oafishly, betraying the klutz I am.

I'm disoriented and fully aware of how much of a dick I'm making of myself even before I'm spun around and given a hard pie spanking, hard enough to make me yelp.

"Your ass is so huge that I'm going to need more than just that one pie to give it some TLC," he says mockingly, slapping another pie against my butt cheeks, which have no defence other than the string of thong that makes up the back of the bikini bottoms.

He places an even bigger, stickier cake than the last onto the stool before forcing my practically bare arse down into it. It feels incredible squelching against my skin and I bite my lip to hold in a moan of pleasure.

"How many more pies do you think it will take to knock the adorable awkwardness out of you?" he asks, weighing a chocolate cream pie in his hand as he walks to stand behind me. I feel myself trembling a little, although I can't be sure if it's with desire or dread.

All of a sudden, the pie is squeezed against my face with such force that my head is pushed back against his chest as he reaches round with both hands to smother me in cream and thick chocolate filling, which he works round and round in unrelenting circles. It's so intense being buried in the pie in such a manner that I start to flail around in discomfort, kicking my feet wildly and trying to manoeuvre my face to allow me to breathe. When he finally releases the pressure, I cough and splutter and gasp for air, much to his delight.

"I thought I was going to have to fuck the giggliness of out of you, but it turns out all you needed was a thorough creaming," he teases. "I didn't expect that reaction from someone so used to getting cream splattered on her face."

As he talks, he dumps a handful of frosting into the front of my bikini bottoms, followed by a long squirt of whipped cream. I don't have time to get used to the sensation before he slams a pie into my crotch, forcing the muck to creep into every available space, including my vagina. I groan at the feeling.

"If you're this overwhelmed by your treatment so far, I can only imagine how you're going to react to the pool," he laughs.

"What pool?" I ask nervously, still being tormented by the sensation of chocolate and cream sliding about in my underwear combined with the cake pressing into my arse.

He tugs the sheet off from over the inflatable pool to reveal that it is filled to the brim with shaving foam. My eyes and mouth open wider with fearful anticipation as he stands me up and positions me in front of the pool, hands still cuffed behind my back.

"Don't worry, your giant tits will help break your fall," he whispers in my ear mockingly before giving me a firm shove.

As he predicted, my boobs are the first thing to make contact with the pool, sending cream flying out in all directions even before I face plant into the slop. I can hear his laughter despite being fully submerged in foam.

"You should have seen the way your boobs bounced when they hit the foam! It's just asking to have cartoon slapstick noises dubbed over it! And it's going to look even funnier in slow motion"

I writhe in the pool until my face is out of the foam, which I regret as it is instantly met with a deluge of honey being poured over it. I frantically shake my head and splutter, trying in vain to fight the stickiness from getting into my mouth or my eyes.

"If you think that's gooey, just you wait until I blow a load onto your stupid face," he says, forcing my head back down into the pool of foam.

While he holds me under, I feel my bikini top being untied at the back, so that when he lifts me back out of the pool by my hair my naked tits are on show for the camera, leaving the scrap of fabric that was protecting my modesty behind in the pool. He stands me up in the pool, hands still cuffed behind my back so I'm unable to even attempt to reclaim my dignity as he tugs my bikini bottoms down to my ankles, stripping me completely nude. I wonder if even through all the gunk on my face the cameras have picked up on how much I'm blushing.

He brings the stool closer to the pool and places a cake on it. I'm expecting him to make me sit on it again, but instead he smashes my face down into it, rubbing it in with one hand while he repeatedly slaps my arse with the other. It's so degrading to be bent over and spanked like that, even more so while my face is buried in pink buttercream.

"That's exactly what you deserve and you know it," he sneers as he eventually drags my head back up, taking the remainder of the cake and slamming it into my crotch.

My whole body is exhausted from being thrown and pulled about every which way, which only adds to the total humiliation I'm feeling as I'm forced onto my knees in the pool. At long last, my hands are uncuffed from behind my back but only so that he can bend me onto all fours.

"Are you ready to be fucked?" he asks while roughly shoving a finger inside me. "Oh yes, looks like you really are a twisted little slut if you're this wet even after everything I've done to you!"

I'm so overwhelmed by how good it feels to have him feeling around inside me that I almost forget the aching in my hands and knees from being in such an undignified position.

"But I want you to suffer a little more first," he announces, grabbing a bucket of cake batter slime and dunking my head down into it. Even as my head is being held under, he shoves his dick into me and starts to pound away. My head is dragged back out by the hair, only to be smashed with a pie and shoved back in, again and again, over and over, all the while he drives into me, deeper and deeper. Slimed, pied, fucked, repeat. It's more than I can handle and my hips start to buck with pleasure as I give in to the most brutal orgasm imaginable all while he tugs my slime saturated hair back to make sure that my O face is properly caught on camera.

When I'm completely spent, he slides himself out of me, letting me collapse down into the pool, half horrified and half basking in the post orgasmic glow. My eyes are closed as I try to process the intensity of all the sensations, so I have no warning before he starts to pump his load onto my face, thick and warm and sticky as any gunge he's dumped on me today.

And now the shame kicks in as I feel his cum trickling down my cheek and hear him moaning with ecstasy as he shoots the last blast of semen onto me. I consider how I've been used and how I've enjoyed being used, which only makes me feel more degraded as I sit dripping in cum in a pool of slop.

"Damn," he remarks. "Where did that goofy, giggly girl go?"