Payback is So Sweet: Bagheera Receives Her Messy Comeuppance

It was a little before 8 AM on a Monday morning. The Assistant had already been at work for several hours. Not because he had been told to, but because he wanted to be there.

Ever since his public humiliation the previous Thursday, the young man had been planning this moment. He had a score to settle. Well, actually a couple of scores to settle, but he was only going to deal with one on this day. The other would wait. Ha!

He was still pissed off at what he considered an injustice that had been perpetrated upon him the previous week. After all, he was only following orders. Just doing his job. And yet Mabel, that stuck-up model had thoroughly trashed him afterwards. And his favorite sweater was ruined because of it. Now it was his turn.

But it would not be Mabel that would receive his messy payback. That was going to wait. He wanted her to squirm as she worried about not if, but when he would strike back. And he was prepared to make her suffer for several weeks if need be. No, today, it would not be Mabel that the assistant was going to trash. It was Mabel's boss, Bagheera. And though the assistant knew there was a chance he might lose his job, since Bagheera was the owner of Wam Bagheera Studio, he was willing to take that chance. He knew that Bagheera had helped Mabel in her dirty deed against him, and thus she deserved to go down, in messy, messy flames.

I don't really think she'll fire me. Not really. For one thing, everybody has always said that Bagheera was fair. And deep down, she loves to get messy. So, I don't think she'll fire me. Now, Mabel, on the other hand. She would fire me if she had her way. But I will get her back in my own due time. Today, it's going to be the boss. Ha!

The Assistant had been there since a little before 2 AM. And he had been working very hard. He knew how to make the chocolate pudding for the dozens of pies he had prepared. Plus, there were several buckets of pudding left over for other things. The Assistant snickered when he thought about those 'other things.'

He had gone into the main storeroom and pulled out the containers of chocolate frosting as well as the huge jugs of chocolate syrup. The jugs of syrup were emptied into a five-gallon bucket. And the milk chocolate frosting had been carefully spooned out of their storage units and placed into a large mixing bowl, where he had added just enough water to make the frosting pourable.

Oh, this is going to be so enjoyable, thought the Assistant.

He had made enough chocolate cake batter, that it filled a 5-gallon bucket to the rim. That too, was well hidden. And he, the Assistant, had even gone into Bagheera's own refrigerator, where she kept the special recipe chocolate filling for her pies. Nobody knew that recipe except for Bagheera. Now, however, the Assistant had made a dozen pies using his boss's secret recipe. And he had even put together another dozen pies using a combination of chocolate pudding and Bagheera's own secret recipe for chocolate filling as a topping. In all, the assistant had compiled three dozen, that's thirty-six, gooey chocolate pies. And he knew just where to put them. Ha!

And last, but not least, nor would they be used last, were the four bags of dark chocolate fudge sauce. With each bag weighing 48 ounces, that made twelve pounds of the stuff that was famously poured over ice cream to make a Sundae. And there were a couple other things which he wasn't going to mention at this time.

The Assistant had even been able to nuke, or microwave, the hot fudge sauce so that he could pour it into a large serving bowl. He kept this in one of the eighteen ovens, with it barely turned on, just enough to keep the gooey brown stuff liquefied. The Assistant had finished preparing his mucky chocolate bombardment just a few minutes before, and not a moment too soon, as Genelle, the receptionist stepped through the front door, surprised to find that someone had actually beaten her to work.

"Hi," the bubbly, outgoing receptionist said to the Assistant. "I didn't expect to find you here so early."

"Oh. that's alright. I had some work to catch up on." It wasn't really a lie, so the Assistant didn't feel bad. After all, he had been hard at work for several hours. Ha!

As the morning shift started to arrive, they all greeted the Assistant, some feeling sorry for him. It was a small company, and everyone knew everybody. And they all knew what had happened to him the week before.

As the appointed hour when 'the boss' would arrive, always at 0900 on the dot, the Assistant grew nervous. But he steeled himself to what must come. The Assistant had made up his mind, and he was going to follow through with it, come hell or high water.

As 0859 turned to 0900, the Assistant mumbled to himself, "Let the chips fall however they may. I've come too far to turn back."

With a ring, as the front door opened, the boss stepped in, and a new work week began. Bagheera looked radiant, as always, but today even more so, since it was the first Monday of the month and she always stopped by the beauty salon on her way in. With a facial and manicure to die for, Bagheera was drop-dead gorgeous. And with a fresh, new hairdo that some said cost as much as 14,000 VES, or Venezuelan Bolivars, and wearing a form-fitting all-white outfit of skin-tight trousers and a jacket designed to show off, more than conceal, her magnificent breasts, she looked even more stunning than usual. The Assistant knew that in a few minutes that look was going to be destroyed. And he would be the one to do it.

But now, as the boss stepped through the door and headed through the large, very large, waiting area toward her office, the Assistant made his way to her, an amiable look upon his face.

"Ms. Bagheera," he said, "May I have a moment of your time, please?"

Just as the Assistant addressed his boss, he noticed out of the corner of his eye, that Mabel, who was Bagheera's number one model, was coming in through a side door, as she usually did.

I wonder what that's all about. She never comes in the front door, but always arrives at the same time as Bagheera does. I know I have heard some rumors that they don't like each other very much, but . . . it is strange.

Unlike Mabel, who had never given the Assistant the time of day, Bagheera stopped and turned to him with a smile.

"Of course, what can I do for you, the Assistant?"

"Well, ma'am . . ." the Assistant fumbled with the words now that the time had come. "It's about last week. I don't think what happened to me was fair . . ." his tone fell off with the last words, "to me."

"Oh, I am so sorry about that. And you are right. It wasn't really fair." Thinking back upon it now, though, Bagheera could barely stifle a laugh as she remembered how funny the Assistant had looked after Mable had thoroughly trashed him. "But that was all Mabel. And you know how she is."

Then a stern look crossed Bagheera's face. "And you know, I never interfere with workplace squabbles that don't affect the job here. I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is."

Now regretting that she had stopped to talk to the Assistant, Bagheera turned toward her office, only a few meters away.

Sensing he was being dismissed out of hand, and knowing that it was truly now or never, the Assistant reached out and gently took hold of Bagheera's elbow.

Surprised, the boss turned sharply toward the Assistant, but before she could say a word, he took matters into his own hand.

"Well, I still don't think it was right, ma'am," the Assistant said, his voice raising just a bit.

"Well, I don't care what you think," Bagheera said rather snippily. "This is MY company, and I can do whatever I want.

"Yes ma'am. Yes, you can." And then the Assistant reached over to the small table that stood outside Bagheera's office. There was only one thing on that table, a medium-sized box of about two feet squared. Bagheera always advocated an open-door policy, and as such, she encouraged her employees to leave, anonymously, any ideas or complaints they had, in that box. She would check it daily. This time, however, instead of notes left from the weekend, The Assistant had secreted several of those extremely gooey, chocolate pudding pies in the box. And without another word, he reached in the box and pulled out the first of those pies. Before Bagheera had time to register what was going on, the Assistant slapped that missile of muck directly into his boss's startled face.

SPA-LATTTT!!

With a loud crack that strangely sounded like a high-powered rifle going off in an enclosed space, that pie exploded all over Bagheera's face. In an instant, her beautiful make-up job was destroyed. And as that mucky chocolate slop slathered up and over her forehead, the front of her immaculate hairdo was, likewise, ruined. Bagheera, who stood there in shocked silence, with her mouth wide open, was a mess. It wasn't going to get any better. Ha!

"You son-of-a-bitch! I am so going to . . ."

But the Assistant cut off his boss's reply in mid-sentence when he slammed another of those extra gooey, extremely sloppy, chocolate pudding pies in Bagheera's face. More muck, more brown gunge, more chocolate pudding covered the beautiful brunette's face. Some of that glop even got up Bagheera's nose and she had to snort brown snot out of each nostril, one at a time.

As she stood there, her face a mess, a trainwreck beyond repair, the owner of Wam Bagheera Studio was shaking, not from the cold of the pies, but in rage.

"You fucking bastard. Who do you think you are? I'm going to . . ."

But once again, the Assistant shut her down with another of those really mucky missiles of mess. And while Bagheera stood there, temporarily blinded from the onslaught of brown goo, the Assistant picked up a pair of chocolate pies, this time, two of Bagheera's special recipe chocolate ones. He quickly stepped behind his boss, who was trying to clear the brown slop from her eyes so she could see again.

And before she could say a word, the Assistant slammed both of those pies into the sides of his boss's head, one on the left, and the other on the right. This is called, in WAM terms, "the pie sandwich." And after the Assistant had ground those pies all over her head, Bagheera was so thoroughly trashed that her own mama wouldn't have recognized her. To say that Bagheera was a mess would have been an understatement. She was beyond that. Her entire head was covered, from front to back with brown slop. And it had taken only five pies to do that. There would be many, many, more. Ha!

For a moment there was absolute silence. Everyone who had witnessed the Assistant's messy assault upon the boss were so stunned that nobody made a move. Bagheera stood there in silence, with brown gunge rolling off her head, much of it running down her face and landing on Bagheera's more than ample breasts. The entire upper part of her white jacket was quickly being covered by the running brown goo that was dropping off her head.

It seemed like a cloud of absolute rage was boiling over Bagheera's head. If you've ever seen the old Bugs Bunny cartoons it was like when Yosemite Sam would get angry at that rascally rabbit.

For ten long seconds, Bagheera stared at the Assistant. Anger was clearly written on her mucky face. For ten seconds, Bagheera did not say a word. Everyone in the office was waiting for their fiery, hot blooded, employer to go ballistic. Bagheera's legendary temper was known far and wide. Instead, she shocked everyone with how calm her voice was when she addressed the Assistant.

"What the fuck, do you think you're doing? No, never mind. I don't care. Just clear out all of your stuff. You're . . ."

But she never got to say the next word.

While everyone was shocked into silence, the Assistant was prepping for another round of messiness, and he had the ammunition for it.

While Bagheera had stood motionless in shocked outrage, the Assistant had opened the door to her office and was even now rolling out a three-tiered cart, full of pies.

How did that bastard get in my office?

But before Bagheera could voice her thoughts, the Assistant went to work, again. And for once, all of his practical experience paid off. Eight weeks earlier, after being laid off at the steel mill, the Assistant had responded to an advertisement for anyone with pitching experience. And he had been an All-Star pitcher in high school. When he arrived at the studio, the Assistant had no idea how his baseball talents would be put to use. It was, oddly enough, Bagheera who got to test the throwing talents of the former pitcher from U E Don Romulo Gallegos High School. She took a dozen pies to the face, that day, and found out how good the Assistant really was. But that was business. This was NOT! And Bagheera was so pissed that she could have chewed nails.

Now, however, before Bagheera could even finish a sentence, the Assistant was unleashing unerringly accurate tosses of some of the messiest, muckiest, gooiest, chocolate pies that Bagheera had ever seen.

WOW . . . I've never made any pies that gooey. How did he do it . . .

After the first of a long stream of mucky messiness slammed into Bagheera's face, the Assistant continued the messy assault. And between the chocolate pudding pies that he had made and those made from Bagheera's special messy chocolate pie filling, he started tossing pies as fast as he could. And the Assistant wasn't missing. Ha!

The first three pies landed one on top of each other. SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT!

And each added a further layer of dark brown mess to a face that was already covered in brown slop. As each additional missile of mucky mess landed, Bagheera was rendered even messier than before. Eight, nine, ten, then it was fifteen, sixteen and seventeen. And with each succeeding pie, the slop just kept adding to the totally trashed state that Bagheera had become.

With the twentieth, and final, pie from the cart, Bagheera thought she had received a reprieve. Until she saw the Assistant return to her office and wheel out another cart.

"Oh FUCK! . . . More?"

How the hell did that little bastard get into MY office?

Wearing a completely stoic expression plastered on her face as much as all that chocolate muck that completely coated her body, Bagheera crossed her arms, planted her feet, and stared straight at the Assistant, almost as if daring him to do his worst.

Seeing the look on what he was sure was going to be his former boss, the Assistant paused for a moment. Then he threw his twenty-first pie, and this one, too, slammed into Bagheera's face, adding another grimy layer of chocolate mess to her already destroyed look.

Somewhere along about the twenty-fifth to twenty-sixth pie, Bagheera slipped in the slimy goo at her feet, and fell to her knees. While trying to regain her feet, the owner of WAM Bagheera Studio stuck her mighty fine ass a little too high in the air.

The tantalizing target was just too tempting for the Assistant to pass up. Moving quickly, he slapped one of the Bagheera special chocolate pies onto her ass. And he slapped it hard, too.

"OUCH . . . FUCK!" Bagheera screamed in pain and rage. Turning to look over her shoulder while also trying to rub the stinging sensation to her butt, Bagheera shouted, "You FUCKING ASSHOLE! That Hurt!"

No sooner had the Latino beauty finished berating the Assistant than another of her special pies found its way to her face. With a resounding splat that missile of muck shut her up as a huge portion of the chocolate goo went down her throat.

Sputtering and spitting up chocolate goo, the boss of Wam Bagheera Studio spent the next half minute coughing up brown muck all the while she was using a plethora of four-letter words most of which were disparagingly of the Assistant's biological roots. Ha!

Regaining her feet and finally able to breath properly again, Bagheera gave a stormy look toward the Assistant and then said, in a loud ringing voice, "You're Fired!"

Returning her look with one of disdain, the Assistant said, "no ma'am . . . I quit." Then he slapped another of those chocolate pudding pies into her face, gave her a pie bra with a couple of the Bagheera Specials, and then as his former boss regained her feet and stood to full height, the Assistant slammed home one of the pies filled with his chocolate pudding and Bagheera's secret recipe slop, directly into the juncture where her legs came together. And he ground it in and covered her entire groin-area with chocolate mess, not that it mattered as by this time Bagheera was just about totally covered in chocolate glop.

"How do you like that, Bagheera?"

As she moved toward him, now thoroughly humiliated, the Assistant nimbly danced around her and slapped another of the brown muck bombs onto her ass. Then, as she stood their in sloppy sorrow, the Assistant made a major-league wind-up like he used in his pitching days, before firing a sloppy missile of mess into Bagheera's face. Blinded once more, Bagheera came to a screeching halt, just in time to take the last three pies from her Assistant. When his messy assault was finished, the Assistant had used 36 pies on his boss, leaving her a complete chocolate-covered mess.

Well, I wanted to get Mabel, too, but what the hell. At least I got to go out on a high note. HA!

Blinded once again by the Assistant's messy onslaught, Bagheera took a step toward her office but slipped in the messy goo on the floor. And once more, she found herself sitting on her ass in about four or five inches of brown slop. It was about to get a lot worse, but she didn't know that at the time.

Grinding the back of her thumbs into her eye sockets allowed Bagheera to see her messy assailant once again.

"You will NEVER work in this industry again, mister. I guarantee it!"

Yeah, I kind of figured that.

"Really, who said I would EVER want to work with the likes of you, AGAIN!"

Then, the Assistant walked over to Genelle's desk. He had been hoping she wouldn't deviate from her normal routine. And she hadn't. Since Genelle was left-handed, she kept all of her most important things in the left-side drawers of that desk. And she never looked at the large drawer on her right. Now, the Assistant pulled open the door and reached in to retrieve something he had hidden there in the wee hours of the night. The Assistant pulled out, not one, but two large glass bowls of chocolate pudding.

And before it registered on Bagheera what he intended to do with them, the Assistant had picked up one of the 10-liter bowls, walked over to his former employer, and then dumped that chocolate gunge all over her upturned face, as she had looked up at the WRONG time.

"Pftf . . . Pfft . . . pbbt . . . shi . . . shi . . . pbbt . . . shi . . . fuck . . . FUCK! What the Fuck?"

As Bagheera sputtered and spit from ingesting a lot of chocolate pudding, which went down the wrong way, she tried to stand up, only to slip and fall again and again. Half choking on the brown slop that had gone down the wrong way, the boss of Wam Bagheera Studio was in no position to defend herself when the Assistant dumped the second bowl of chocolate pudding over her head. Or when he quickly wheeled another cart from her office. And there were an additional six one-gallon buckets of the creamy brown goo called pudding. This in turn, the Assistant poured over his former boss's head, leaving the last one hanging upside down and on Bagheera's head, to further her humiliation.

"YOU FUCKIN' BASTARD," Bagheera screamed as she took the muck bucket from her head and, in rage, hurled it clear across the room, where by a strange coincidence, it struck Mabel, the woman who was the cause of Bagheera's mucky misfortune. Mable hearing the commotion, had returned to the reception area to see her boss, one-time friend, and fellow Wammer get totally trashed. Now, Mabel, wise beyond her years, ducked around the corner to a safer location.

But the Assistant wasn't finished with his messy assault on Bagheera. Thirty-six pies and almost a dozen gallons of chocolate pudding over her head were not enough to assuage his feeling of anger at being so shabbily treated. He still had a lot of messy ammunition to use. After all the Assistant didn't come in six hours early for his health. HA!

While Bagheera sat on her ass, in half a foot of brown muck, stewing and steaming, at the entire world, the Assistant went back into her private office for another round of mess.

How did that son-of-a-bitch get into my office?

When he came out with another cart, Bagheera didn't even move. She just sat there, staring daggers at the one-time pitcher from the same high school she had attended. That cart was loaded down with large bowls and even larger buckets. And Bagheera's heart sank, because she knew things were going to get worse, much worse.

Oh Fuck! I'm really screwed now.

"Shit," the boss of bosses, said in a very soft voice, as if to herself. "Fuck. I'm so screwed. Why did I let that fucking bitch talk me into this."

Turning to look over her shoulder at a smirking Mabel, Bagheera vowed to herself that her one-time friend would pay for this.

Oh, you're going to get it, Mable. I will wipe that smirk off your face. I will . . .

"ARRGGHHHH! FUCK!"

Bagheera had forgotten all about the Assistant. But he had not forgotten about her. One of the things he had spent so much time working on was the chocolate cake batter. It took the better part of an hour, but Rick had enough chocolate cake batter to fill an entire five-gallon, or almost twenty liter, bucket with the lighter brown goo. And now, he started pouring it over the head of his one-time employer.

"YOU SON-OF-A-BITCH. YOU FUCKING BASTARD. OOH! I am going to get you for this. I will get . . ."

But her tirade was cut off in mid-sentence when the Assistant turned the pour directly over Bagheera's face and completely inundated her mouth and nose to where Bagheera started choking on the brown muck.

"Pbbt, blat, pbbt, shit . . . shit . . . pbbt, pbbt, hak, pbbt . . . you son-of-a . . . pbbt. I will kill . . ."

As the last few drops, of that chocolate slop, drippled out and onto Bagheera's head, the assistant snidely commented, "I'm so sorry I will miss your birthday, ma'am. So, I thought I would make you a cake."

"That's not a FUCKING cake, you asshole. That was cake batter you poured over my head. LOOK AT ME! I'M RUINED!"

"You son-of-a-bitch, you're going to pay for this."

She was so pissed at the Assistant. If looks could kill, he would have been dead, buried and already decomposed. That's how angry Bagheera was. But it would get worse. Ha!

Now, as the Assistant picked up another container of mess, this time a one-gallon stainless steel bowl, he looked down at Bagheera's mucky form.

"My mama always said a cake isn't a cake without frosting."

"WHAT CAKE," screeched Bagheera. "That wasn't a cake, you moron. It was cake batter, and you poured it over my head."

The assistant paused, just briefly, then said, "well, maybe. But it's the thought that counts."

And before she could say or do anything, he reached in that bowl and pulled out a big glob of sloppy dark brown chocolate frosting. And then he slathered it all over Bagheera's face.

"Pbbt, pbbt, hak, pbbt, shit . . ."

Each time she tried to talk, the Assistant would reach in the bowl and grab another goopy glob of that gooey chocolate slop. And each time, Bagheera would get another layer of dark brown muck on her face. By the time that the Assistant had emptied that entire bowl, Bagheera's entire head was covered with a new layer of chocolate muck. And the Assistant was laughing his head off.

"You bastard," Bagheera said in such a soft tone that nobody, but the Assistant heard. "I will get you for this. If it's the last thing I ever do, I will get you."

But now, the Assistant picked up another bowl of dark brown sloppy goo. This was even larger than the previous one. "I wouldn't want you to think I shorted you on anything, boss," and he said that last word as if it were a dirty word. And then he tilted her chin so that Bagheera's entire face was open for his next round of messy slop. And then, the Assistant poured that just slightly heated hot fudge sauce all over Bagheera's face, and he even reached down and pulled open her mucky jacket so that he could direct the pour onto Bagheera's most cherished assets. And as that chocolate muck covered her boobs, Bagheera started feeling a rising heat flow through her.

You son-of-a-bitch, I'm going to get you.

"You bastard," Bagheera ground out through her mucky lips, when the Assistant had finished pouring the entire twelve pounds of hot fudge sauce onto his former employer, "I will get you for this."

Now, as Bagheera had a fresh layer of grimy mire covering her face, and other parts of her anatomy, the Assistant reached for his last round of messy chocolate ammunition. And it was a doozy.

The Assistant picked up the last item on that cart, and it was perhaps the best, or if you were looking at it from Bagheera's point of view, the worst. With over forty pounds of dark brown syrup, so dark that it was almost black looking, this five-gallon bucket was filled to the rim with Hershey's finest chocolate syrup. And Bagheera knew what was going to happen.

But this time, she didn't say anything. She didn't move, Bagheera didn't even flinch. Kneeling in six inches of muck from all her previous chocolate assaults, Bagheera just looked into the Assistant's eyes as if her gaze was shooting razor-sharp arrows into his very soul. As Bagheera knelt there, in the mire, with her hands on her hips, it was almost as if she were daring him to do his best, or in this case, his worst. And how could he fail to rise to the occasion.

As the Assistant raised that bucket, weighing well over forty pounds, Bagheera tilted her head back, while bracing her hands on the floor behind her. And just before she shut her eyes, Bagheera winked at the Assistant and then gave him an endearing smile.

Shit. She winked at me. She really did. She's not mad. Not really.

Then the Assistant started to pour all that chocolate slime over Bagheera. And he took his time. The Assistant took almost two full minutes to complete the pour. By the time he was finished you couldn't see any of the slop before, because it was completely covered with this new layer of chocolate mess. Bagheera even pulled back the top of her blouse so that slime could flow directly on her boobs.

When the Assistant had finished his messy pour, Bagheera was drenched in that dark chocolate sauce. Every square inch of her body was soaked in that slime. And the Assistant was so happy.

"Oh, and one last thing, ma'am" he let that last word drag out as the Assistant pulled two things from his coat pockets. One was a spray can of whipped cream. The other was a small jar of Maraschino cherries.

And as Bagheera, the boss of Wam Bagheera Studio, looked him in the eye, the Assistant emptied that entire can of whipped cream over her goo-covered head, forming a large pile of white foam, that was so incongruous compared to the dark brown, almost black-looking slime that covered every square inch of the beautiful woman's body. Then, in almost comic-relief, he took a single cherry from that jar and placed it in the center of that white blob centered on Bagheera's head.

"A chocolate Sundae, is not a chocolate Sundae without whipped cream and a cherry. Have a good rest of your life, Bagheera! And then, he walked away.

But now, as Bagheera slowly made her way to her feet, then carefully walked to her office, the Assistant reluctantly made his way to the front door and out of her life forever. Or so it would appear.

Bagheera barely made it to her office and shut the door before her trembling legs gave out. Leaving a slimy streak of brown muck on the wall behind her, Bagheera slid down the wall until she was seated in a growing pool of slimy brown goo. By now, her breathing was coming in great gasps as Bagheera pulled away her jacket and then her blouse so that she could heap large quantities of that messy chocolate directly onto her boobs. As she kept slathering that muck over her nipples they got hard as a rock. And then, Bagheera, the boss of bosses, the leader of WAM Bagheera studios sat there and pleasured herself. And when she came, it was the orgasm of a lifetime, the best she had ever had.

With a smile plastered on her mucky lips, Bagheera made it to her desk where she plopped down into her leather chair, not caring that she was ruining a hand-crafted leather chair that many said was worth over 100,000 VES. Touching the intercom, Bagheera waited until the receptionist came online.

"Call the Assistant, please . . . and tell him he is not fired. And that I would really appreciate it if he did not quit. Tell him that I expect to see him bright and early, tomorrow morning." Then she tilted her chair back, and Bagheera closed her eyes and relieved every last second of what her highly valued assistant had just done to her.