The Occasional Adventures of Mrs Benndi

A series (possibly) of adventures of a business woman who visits a mysterious costume shop and enters fantasy adventures where she gets wet and messy.

It was quiet on Festive Road, where Mrs Benndi lived. She lived alone in a nice little semi-detached house ever since Mr Benndi (the total bastard) left her for that dental hygienist with no chin and one of those annoying sort of Hitler hairstyles which is longer on one side at the front than the other, cow!

Mrs Benndi was contemplating a stroll down the shops, after a successful marketing meeting with the girls from her social media network selling business which offers great products like fresh air in a can and powdered water to people she hardly even knew but bombarded daily with motivational shit about 'becoming richer in life and in wealth with these amazing products'... She thought about changing out of her smart business suit but thought, nah, I'll put on my running shoes and wear the garish neon yellow/green sneakers with my sharp suit, shiny hosiery and enormous designer handbag, that's what all the highly important women on the go wear around the city.....Mrs Benndi lived in a crappy seaside town somewhere dismal, not the city.

As she walked Mrs Benndi stumbled across an intriguing looking shop, it had no name on the front but the window display had a suit of armour, a spacesuit and a French Maid's outfit in the window, intriguing indeed she thought. Admiring her long black hair in the window reflection, 'I look good', she thought and she did look good. Suddenly thinking about an upcoming 'Hen Do' where the bride was having a drunken night out and there was talk of dressing up as showgirls or wombats or some shit, she snapped out of her gaze, RIGHT! They might have something suitable in here.

As she walked in and surveyed the costumes the shop-keeper magically appeared. He was a slightly chubby but jolly looking man with ruddy cheeks and a cheeky smile, he was wearing a T-Shirt with OTT emblazoned on it in pink letters, a pair of shiny PVC trousers and a Fez, for no explicable reason. He peered through his glasses and said, 'Good Afternoon Sir what outfit would you like to try on today?', 'Sir, SIR!?!' blurted Mrs Benndi, 'Oh I'm sorry I have a cold' he said shifting uncomfortably for a moment.

'I'm Will Boat-Town, I'm the shop-keeper here at Splash Costumes, what would you like?'
'Err, I don't know' said Mrs Benndi.

'Well crack on love will you, as we shut up shop in half an hour and I'm meeting a few pals down the pub straight after work, I'll have some cleaning to do once you're done as well, so..' muttered the Shop-keeper.

'I really don't understand' said Mrs Benndi, 'this is a fancy dress shop, isn't it?'

'Well yes but the idea is you pick some outfit from the rail and then go through that green door at the back of the shop, get changed into it and through the next green door and out into a fantasy scenario which fits the theme of the outfit and you get sploshed with whatever seems appropriate and in keeping with the theme, get it?'

'Sploshed?'

'Listen love, this is wearing a bit thin, I'm here in this story as a tribute representation of a much loved and missed dearly departed character in the WAM, Sploshing community and my sole purpose in this story really is to sign-post your inevitable wet and messy pay off at the end and another thing, this whole Mr Benn/Mrs Benndi thing - the Americans aren't going to 'get it', in fact anyone under 40 probably isn't going to get it unless they look up You Tube, isn't that right Mrs Benndi?'

'Please, call me Wendi' said Mrs Benndi,

'You're called Wendy Benndi?' gasped Will, his mouth continuing to move but no words coming out,

'Yes, Wendi with an 'I', she offered,

'So that would be Windy then?!?' said Will, 'No Wendi', said Wendi, 'Oh for fuuuu.' Will walked away but turned as he walked and said, 'C'me're' beckoning to Mrs Benndi.

'Here we have the outfits for the short duration scenarios, they are for the 15 minute film scene skits, you put 'em on, enter the scene and you get gunged, that's about it'.

'GUNGED!!!' Mrs Benndi shrieked, 'I always wanted to try that as a kid, you know like all those shows on TV?'

Will puffed out his cheeks and declared, 'Yeah, well now is the time to try it, you have exactly 25 minutes to get in, get gunged, get out and go home, so I can get out and get into the pub, right Avanti, let's go.'

'Here you go, Calamity Jane scenario, perfect, I'll put the outfit in the changing room for you and you sign that contract on the counter, waiving any rights to sue if you get blinded in an eye by a custard flan',

'Calamity Jane, it's my favourite film, oh yeah I remember that Doris Day gets a bit muddy in that one, she falls in the crick and, yes ok, I'll go for it, sign me up'.

Two minutes later Mrs Benndi was singing out loud to herself about Dead Wood Stages and Windy Cities as she entered the changing room. Her singing stopped abruptly when she saw a black basque hanging up with some other small accessories and a pair of high heels with little pink flowers on the front, at her feet. She gulped and realised it was Katie Brown's outfit from the music hall scene in Calamity Jane, all legs and bosoms and bottom on show..oh to hell with it she thought, I do Jazzer-size twice a week and my ass is rock hard, she smiled and chirped out loud again, 'Now if you've got a cutie, who's a real sweet patootie better keep it under your hat.' I'm going for it!!

Just moments later Mrs Benndi burst through the second green door and sure enough emerged onto a stage in a music hall full of people in period wild west gear!!

She stopped and just stared out at the crowd. Her glossy black hair swept up on the back and side of her head, held with pink flowers, a very tight black basque with pink bones decorating the corset, a black choker with a pendant around her neck, her pert derriere encased in frilly full pink knickers and her long legs clad in sheer, shiny black tights.

Her outfit was finished off with a corsage of pink flowers on her wrist, an umbrella of black and pink lace which wouldn't keep any rain off for sure and the daintiest of pink flower decorated heels with a pointed toe, which were a bit too high heeled for her liking, thinking if she was supposed to dance or something.

There was a short silence as Mrs Benndi, feeling rather awkward, one hand holding the open umbrella over her shoulder and the other moving up and down, fingers splayed trying to protect her modesty somehow, one moment over her rather ample looking cleavage, the next over her crotch as the basque barely came low enough at the front to cover her pale pink knickers visible clear as day, Doris Day, if you like! Against the contrasting black nylon sheen of her thighs.

A room full of eyes on her then there was jeering and people were throwing stuff..tomatoes, eggs......a cucumber?!!......what?!?.....c'mon!!!

Sloppy fruit and eggs splatted all around Mrs Benndi, some started to hit her, tomatoes splatting into her cleavage made her wince and open mouthed for a moment she gasped only for several tomatoes to rain down all at once onto her face and hair, she turned her back and more jeering, eggs seemed to come in waves and Mrs Benndi decided to run off stage the way she came on but high heels, eggs, tomatoes, a cucumber or two, at least none of those hit her! who brings a cucumber to the theatre? Down she went on the slippery floor, it was inevitable, her tights slicked on one side with slimy mess and her arm too, she was still holding the umbrella for some reason.

A couple of attempts to get up but this was a slippery floor and there was no foot hold for what seemed like an eternity, enough time for about 3 or 4 more eggs to splat onto her head and shoulder and then suddenly the onslaught stopped and a big cheer went up.

Oh wow, is that it done? She thought. Then a man came on stage looking for all the world like Abraham Lincoln, with a huge stove-pipe hat and a massive beard which really was too massive, it nearly came down to the man's knees!! Except it wasn't Abraham Lincoln, it was the shop-keeper, Will and he was saying something to the crowd about her 'not being Adelaide Adams but give her a chance', he was overdoing the acting a bit if truth be told but anyway he helped Mrs Benndi to her feet and she stood for a moment looking down at the damage to her previously spectacular appearance, then she looked and saw the full length mirror at the other side of the stage.

She saw her hair heavy with clear and yellow globs of egg, but that wasn't too bad, her face pretty much escaped any mess, save for some moisture from splatted tomatoes and a few seeds adhering to her cheeks. She was wet about her arms and shoulders and cleavage with tomato seeds and more egg residue there, her basque was pretty much clean and her left leg was all slimy where she had taken the fall and she realised she had slid along the stage a bit, but that was it, 'hardly a gunging', she thought.

Will walked off, the band struck up the 'Keep it Under Your Hat' music and boom!! Mrs Benndi was dancing and singing just like 'Katie' in the film, she didn't know where that came from and she was unsure just how she was keeping her footing on the slippery stage but she was knocking their socks off out there!!

As she was high kicking her way across stage she saw the curtain at the back of the stage draw back and a line of ropes with handles on them lined up, hanging down across the back of the set.

Singing and dancing, with flirtatious kicks and flicks and winks and wiggles she made her way to the line of ropes, the odd glob of egg or spray of tomato juice or tomato seed arcing off her as she twirled, kicked and sang like she never knew she could.

She stopped, one leg cocked, toe pointing down, hand on hip, with her umbrella over her head and pulled the first handle, a small trickle of brown watery liquid poured out and over the umbrella, some of it dripping through the lace and leaving droplets of brown on Mrs Benndi's face, hair and pink flowery fascinator in her hair. It kept on trickling and enough came down to slick over her cleavage and start running down her basque and onto her legs. Mrs Benndi, popped her hip up and down to the music, her hand still on her hip accentuating the cheeky sexiness of the movement as the trickle suddenly became a huge thunderous torrent and deluged Mrs Benndi, destroying the umbrella, causing her to gasp and stumble, nearly falling but she grabbed for the rope and it kept her upright. She was bent forward now the crumpled umbrella on the floor, her knees knocked together her feet pointing inwards and her lower legs buckling under her. She was coated completely head to toe in clinging brown chocolatey gunge.

The music was still playing and she somehow popped back into character and danced and spun her way to the next handle, pulling it as she pirouetted under it and was met with a tidal wave of freezing cold water, which washed much of the chocolate off, left her shining with moisture but completely wrecking her hairstyle which was now just a mess, her mascara running and strands of hair sticking to her face as Mrs Benndi, just pirouetted and high-kicked right on over to the next handle, stopping for a moment, gasping as the cold water effects registered that bit clearer, then turning her back to the crowd and bending over to expose her fairly clean frilly pink panties and glorious long nyloned legs, she yanked the rope. Clods of cream and what looked like pieces of pie and sponge cake landed on her back and started to tumble down her knickers and the backs of her legs. She gave a cheeky wiggle and spun round to look up and start taking this falling confectionary onslaught full in the face, legs apart and hands on hips, facing straight up into the downpour, defiant. As quick as it started the plopping, slopping broken cakes and pies stopped abruptly and Mrs Benndi, brought her face back down to look straight out to the now cheering audience. She was a cream covered vision, eyes and lips just visible, poking out from a coating of clinging cream and sponge, with little pieces of fruit pie filling making little bumps here and there in the cream.

The music had stopped for a moment but started to build again and Mrs Benndi saw there was now a chair in the middle of the stage and she danced over to it, more high kicks, spraying cream everywhere as she went.

She picked up the chair and turned it so the arched back was facing the audience and straddled the chair giving an eyeful of her frilly underwear to the front rows, legs spread and resting her chin on her hand on the back of the chair. She dolefully sang a few lines as if yearning for more mess, which duly arrived as a troupe of dancers spun and kicked their way onto the stage, most had pies in their hands, heaped with cream and rich red and yellow and dark brown fillings. They rained the pies down on Mrs Benndi as they passed her in swaying and sweeping movements to the music. Splat, pop, blat they went into her face, on top of her head, sandwiching her head two at a time until Mrs Benndi was absolutely covered in cream and pie filling, her legs had escaped a little around the lower legs but her thighs were holding up piles of pie and cream.

She stood up quickly as the music began to fade and cream and pie filling slopped to the floor. Mrs Benndi gave a final flourish and wiggled round to hold the back of the chair, bending over and exposing her gorgeous bottom to the baying crowd, it was relatively clean still and the knickers had ridden up giving a glorious view of her peachy buttocks clad in shining black nylon, her sun-kissed tanned skin shining through the nylon SPLAT!! a huge cream cake was delivered by Abraham Lincoln and the music fired up a last few bars. Mrs Benndi wiggled and strutted using the chair as a prop, swung it round to sit on again, the right way round 'Keep....It......Under......Your......Hat'......Abraham Lincoln took off his hat and pulled something out from the bottom, like a plastic lid or something and smashed the giant stove-pipe hat down on Mrs Benndi's head, a torrent of chocolatey brown sludge first shooting up out of a hole in the top of the hat then as he pulled the hat up, Mrs Benndi instinctively putting her hands up to hold it or grab it, more brown, lumpy, clinging chocolate poured out and down over Mrs Benndi's hair which was now just a matted blob of brown and white paste, slicking over her face, down over her breasts and plopping down onto her cream streaked nylon legs, running in little rivulets accumulating with cream as they trundled down her legs to her feet and matting the last of any visible pink flowers on her shoes.

Mrs Benndi's mouth dropped open, her head fell forward and she shuddered, shivered, felt strangely elated, she clapped her thighs together and her crotch felt a couple of jolts of pleasure. She sat there for a moment, her head bowed, arms outstretched, hands dangling downwards, occasionally she flicked her hands to flick the gunk from them and she just sat there laughing, a little at first but full on gales of laughter out loud as she started to squeegee the gunge from her arms and legs and then her face with her hands, running her hands up and down her legs and enjoying the strange sensation of her hair heavy with gunk and the textures of nylon and lace and wet cloying gunk.

The crowd were cheering and stamping and clapping but as she cleaned more muck from her eyes, she opened them and saw she was standing at the green door again, outside by the bins and in a yard. The green door opened and Will Abraham Lincoln Boat-Town popped his head out, 'Any good?' he enquired at the chocolatey, creamy vision who stood before him, shivering slightly in the drizzle,

'Errr, yes, it was errr amazing....errr'

'Well, as I said, I'm off to the pub.there's a hose there and some shampoo and stuff, you can let yourself out the side door there, want to book in for another go?' said Will whilst making to lock the door, 'The clothes you came here in are there in that bag there, ok, byeeee'.

'Oh, ok' ventured Mrs Benndi, 'I suppose.' Her voice trailed off. 'Hey, I need a costume for this Hen Do!!'

'Next time thennnn.', came a voice fading away with footsteps equally fading, 'But, but, Heyyyyy' came the plea from Mrs Benndi,

'Puuuuuuub!!' came the even fainter reply.

Mrs Benndi, looked at herself, turning, twisting and squirming to get a look at the damage, shrugging and then slapping her hands down onto her thighs with a satisfying splat, before sighing and starting the wash off.

Once clean and dry, she picked up her enormous designer handbag and inside she noticed a business card, it just had a picture of a pie on it, on the back scrawled in scratchy writing, 'Same time next week? In fact try to get here a little earlier, then we can do Silence of the Lambs!!'

Mrs Benndi laughed out loud at that, hoping that was a joke and then thought for a moment......holy crap, what just happened!?!