Christmas themed WAM? You got it. Just a reminder that you could have read this a week ago on ZxStories.art

***

'I don't know, Lucy. Christmas isn't really a thing for us.'

'Who's us?' Lucy asked. 'You told me you're the least devout Muslim you know. Anyway, of all the things that are weird about this idea, you're going to try and tell me your religion is the main one? I've seen you drink.'

Sameena chuckled at that. 'Rarely. Alright. You're not wrong about that.'

'I rarely am. So, what do you say?'

'You're sure there'll be enough stuff for it to be worthwhile?'

'If it's anything like my parents' house, there'll be piles of the stuff. Besides, even if it doesn't work out at least you'll be getting overtime.'

'What's in it for you?' Sam asked, a slight hint of wariness in her voice. 'Will I find out you've been watching on CCTV or something?'

'Ha! I wish. No, nothing like that. Just consider it my Christmas present to you some festive charity.'

'It has been a while since I got out and about.'

'Exactly! Trust me, you're going to love it.'

'Alright, alright. I'll do it. Tell Frank I'll be there.'

'Awesome. You won't regret it, I promise.'

Sam replied calmly and bid Lucy farewell. She hung up the phone, but her stomach was dancing with nervous excitement. Christmas was two days away. Most of the country was excited to spend time with family, open presents and get pissed. Sam, thanks to Lucy, couldn't wait to go to work.

Sameena's work uniform was about as dull and dowdy as you might expect of a cleaner's but pulling her stockings up gave her a little thrill. She smiled as the memory of her first steps into being a messy slut played out in her mind. She could practically feel the weird mixture of slop on the Sploshwood Studio floor seeping through the flimsy nylon, even now. The sensation was so vivid in her memory that she had to glance down to make sure she was imagining it.

Getting dressed for a public messing had become somewhat ritualistic by now. She looked at herself in the mirror, noting how her white mesh knickers stood out against her skin. Normally Sam wore a thong, but she needed space to fill today. Her bra matched, of course. It was important that the clothing she was going to ruin was worth ruining, like how the most satisfying sandcastles to kick are the ones that someone clearly spent a lot of time on. Besides, this one pushed her tits up and made them look even better than they already did.

It was a crying shame to cover them up, she thought, pulling her company-branded polo shirt over her head. Maroon in colour, and exceptionally unflattering, it almost managed to hide her curves but not quite. That was an impossible task.

Finally, she pulled on a plain black skirt and that was that: time for another day on the job. Still, Sam couldn't stop thinking about what Lucy had set-up for her. Nothing about cleaning up after someone else's dinner would have excited a normal person, but Sameena had long since accepted that she wasn't a normal person.

And, to be fair, it wasn't the cleaning up she was looking forward to.

Freshly dressed and made up, Sam grabbed a couple of slices of toast and headed out. She'd never been to Spurtley Hall, but knew exactly where it was, having driven past it hundreds of times. She pulled into the car park, checked her make-up in the mirror she wouldn't bother with this on a normal day, but this was no normal day and stepped out into the frosty chill of late December.

It was dark. Sam could see her breath in the street lights that were dotted about the car park. Through the large, misted-up windows, she could also see that the party was winding down. The buffet was in ruin, half-empty glasses were discarded all over the place, and only a handful of people remained. Indeed, Sam smiled politely and several inebriated revellers who stumbled past her when she reached the front door. Some of the more sober ones looked her up and down, which she might have taken as a compliment in other circumstances, if the party-goers or party-leavers, in this case hadn't all been twice her age.

Instead, Sam maintained a polite but chilly smile, held the door open for another pair of rich old men, and eagerly stepped inside.

The difference in temperature was noticeable immediately, and Sam felt her whole body relax as though she were luxuriating in a bath. She glanced around, found the reception desk and strode towards it. 'Sameena,' she said to the warmly-smiling woman behind the desk. 'I'm here to clean up.'

'Perfect,' the woman replied. 'Well, they're nearly all out now. You can wait here if you like or you can get started if you don't mind a bit of an audience. They won't see much, the state they're in.'

Sam thanked the woman slim, with pale blonde hair, a few years younger than her and considered her options as she went through another door into the function room. Whether or not she would prefer an actual audience, as opposed to the exhilarating thrill of the potential of being seen, was an unending debate for Sam. She tended to err on the cautious side, though she knew full well that her proclivities were far from cautious by most people's standards.

The state of the prospective audience made that decision easier than usual. Clearly this had been a meeting for some rich old golf buddies, or whatever it was that boring old white men did for fun. The loiterers were three wrinkled old fellows with varying amounts of wispy white hair. One of them had an impressively large beard festive, but genuine and all three were snoring loudly. The idea of getting caught being naughty lost a lot of its lustre when this was the audience, Sam felt. Her gratification would have to be delayed more than she had intended.

Seeing no way round it, Sam shook out a bin bag and started her work by picking up a few bit of discarded wrappers and spent Christmas crackers. Frankly, though, she could see clearly that there wasn't a lot of just picking things up to be done. Luckily for her, during her first spot of tinkering around the edges, one of the sleepers woke himself with his own snoring. After smiling politely at Sam, the old fellow took a moment to remember where he was, turned to wake his friend, and the two of them left together, maintaining impressively straight paths towards the exit.

The third man continued to snore loudly. Sam hid her frustration well after all, she couldn't really enjoy herself till the staff left as well. Still, the longer this guy stuck around, the longer the staff would have to be here too. On the bright side, there did only seem to be the receptionist remaining. Sam had seen what she assumed to be the bar staff leaving already, and the kitchen staff must have left some time ago.

Tidying in earnest now, Sam found herself eyeing up the many leftovers, contemplating what she would do with them in the hopefully-near future. She had been roughly aware of what kind of stuff she might find laying around, but it was an interesting experience to see the stuff in person. Gravy, obviously she recognised immediately. Cranberry jam? Sauce? Something deep red and sticky, and full of messy potential, anyway. Apple sauce looked very promising. She knew Christmas Cake wasn't particularly appropriate, but the sauce that many of the half-eaten remains were doused in looked to have some potential.

With a frustrated yearning, Sam considered nudging the final party-goer or even just coughing loudly in a bid to wake him and be free. She opted for a tentative cough, and the old man did stir. She tried again, louder, and this time he cursed before finally opening his eyes and asking Sam where he was.

'Christmas party,' she replied. 'Finished some time ago.'

'Bloody hell,' he said in a cartoonish posh accent. 'Fallen asleep again, is it? Call me a car, would you? Bloody brandy. I'd have been here all night if you hadn't disturbed me, you know.'

Sam smiled thinly and offered him an arm. He took it, slowly pulled himself to his feet, muttering about his sore head, and, mercifully, headed for the door. Sam breathed out a sigh of relief and returned to her tidying, though her eyes constantly darted from the job to the reception desk. The woman there had the expression of somebody who had really had enough of pretending to be interested in the conversations of men who made her annual wage in a day. Sam could appreciate that position all too well, and was grateful on her behalf when a sleek black Mercedes pulled up outside the front door. The old timer shuffled his way out into the crisp night air, and Sam watched with a sense of camaraderie as the woman's flimsy smile completely dissipated.

Still, the receptionist evidently still had some work to do before she could lock up and leave Sam a key, so Sam was forced to press on and continue to wait. She did find herself tempted to treat herself to an accidentally-on-purpose entrée, though. Maybe she could accidentally spill some of this white, custard-looking sauce on herself, or perhaps something subtler. She found herself getting excited by the idea more and more as time passed. She would glance toward the receptionist, see her still tapping away at a computer, and think of a new way she could she could get messy right now while still maintaining some plausible deniability. Perhaps she could be too distracted when picking up a plate and just let her hand sink completely into the leftovers.

The more she thought about it, the harder it became to talk herself down. She ruled out the more outlandish ideas quite quickly, storing them in her mind for later. After all, it would be difficult to explain why a bit of a spill down her top had resulted in her taking it off altogether. Sitting on a half-eaten plate of food, though? That could work. Who would expect there to be a plate on a chair in the first place?

Sam felt a tension growing within her. She really wanted to take the naughty, thrilling risk, but, as usual, she wanted the risk of being seen rather than to actually be seen. The fact that she knew without doubt that the receptionist would have to pop in before she left meant that any visible mess was guaranteed to be seen. That naturally made her wonder about just stuffing something in her underwear right now, but that meant a huge risk of being seen performing the act, which would then be much harder to deny. No, Sam reasoned, if she was going to give herself a physical tease to go with the mental one she was already inflicting on herself, it had to be something that could realistically be explained away.

Then she saw it: the perfect crime. Somebody had left a tray of drinks, in various states of emptiness, precariously balanced on the edge of a table. It wouldn't exactly give Sam the sloppy, slimy, gooey feeling she craved, but it was something, and it could be easily dismissed as an accident. It was already late, after all, and the tray really was in a less than ideal spot.

Before she could talk herself down, Sam went for it. She turned her back on the table in question, leant over to pick something up from the one beside it, and very deliberately swung her hips so that her sizeable, round arse bashed into the drinks tray. She waited in that position for one delightfully vulnerable moment, hearing the crash of glasses colliding, the tinkle of them falling over, and then, finally, feeling the wet splash of multiple liquids soaking the lower back of her t-shirt and most of the back side of her skirt. It took another moment for her to feel the chill of wetness soaking through her flimsy white knickers but when it hit, she shivered delightfully. She also remembered, as she finally stood up, that she had some very easily-exposed stockings on. There was a very real chance that, if she had looked up at the crash, the receptionist would have spotted the nylon.

Sam's first instinct, which she had already overridden, was to straighten up and try to deal with the dampness. Her second, which she heeded, was to look over and see what the receptionist was up to. The blonde was indeed making her way over to see what all the fuss was about. Sam found that she was more amenable to her first instinct at this point, and begun making an effort to be seen wringing out her polo shirt with one hand while gathering up the glasses with the other. Mercifully, none of the glasses had broken, but they had drenched her quite severely, Eyeing them up beforehand, it hadn't seemed like much a third of a pint of beer here, an inch of discarded whiskey there. Combined, though, her lower half had taking quite a soaking.

Sam didn't have time to really assess the damage to her dignity, though. The receptionist was already opening the door into the function room before Sam clocked that her accidental cocktail was trickling down her nylon-clad thighs like a different kind of accident.

'Everything alright?' the receptionist asked.

'Yeah, uh, just knocked a tray over. Nothing broken as far as I can tell.'

The receptionist looked her up and down in a way that Sam felt crossed the line between practical and inappropriate. 'You're soaked,' the receptionist said. 'Can I get you something to change into?'

'I'll be alright,' Sam said. 'Anyway, I'm supposed to keep my uniform on.'

'Even when it's drenched?'

Sam shrugged. She didn't really know what to say to that.

'Tell you what, you just slip out of those wet things and I'll put them through the dryer so you can put them back on when you're done.' There was a pause, very brief, but Sam felt it was also very deliberate. 'And I'll bring you one of our spare uniforms in the meantime.'

Was this woman implying that Sam just strip down to her lingerie in front of her? 'Honestly, it's no bother,' Sam replied. It was believable because it was true, as was her follow-up: 'I'm sort of used to it, anyway.'

The receptionist, now with hands on hips, gave her another appraising look. Sam felt like she was being judged, but somehow it was both exciting and nerve-wracking in equal measure. She wasn't entirely sure, and the circumstance didn't really help sway her one way or the other, but she felt like she was being checked out.

'It gets nippy in here after hours,' the receptionist said. 'Once I leave, I have to turn off most of the heating, lights, et cetera. I can't in good conscience leave you cold and wet. Look, you wait here and I'll go get you something else to put on.'

This woman clearly wasn't going to take no for an answer, but at least now she was giving Sam the opportunity to not just undress in front of her like it was nothing. That was what was being suggested here. Sam couldn't be totally sure if everything else was sexual and not just practical, but the fact that the other woman had suggested she remove her clothes there and then was starting to convince her.

Another naughty idea occurred to Sam as she waited. What if she just went with it? What if she removed her polo shirt and her skirt and just stood there, waiting in the middle of the function room in nothing but lingerie, for this unfamiliar woman to come back and find her. It would be incredibly uncomfortable if she had read the situation wrong, but she could at least try and explain it away as being no big deal. In theory, she could act like she undressed in front of people all the time and thought nothing of it.

Sam didn't trust herself to play it that cool, though. Besides, the receptionist was back within a couple of minutes and Sam was still in the fantasy stage of planning such an exhibition.

'Here you go,' the receptionist said, holding out neatly-ironed white work shirt and a pair of plain black trousers. The name Spurtley Hall was embroidered on the breast of the shirt.

Sam took them from her, but hesitated.

'Would you prefer me to look away?' the stranger asked precociously.

'I'd prefer you not to be here at all,' Sam replied, not quite honestly.

There was a brief flash of disappointment on the woman's face, but she hid it again impressively quickly. 'Of course. Sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. Well, I'll be at the desk for another ten minutes and then I finally get to clock off. Here's your keys. This one is for the function room, this one is for the laundry. You can figure out how to use the dryer yourself, I'm sure. If you need anything in the next ten minutes, you know where I am. My name's Katie, by the way.'

Sam thanked her, but waited till she had left the room before she started undressing. Realistically, it didn't make a huge difference, since the walls of the room were mostly glass, as was the door, but it felt safer more private. Again, she couldn't be totally sure maybe she was just out of practice, or maybe she still wasn't used to reading signals from women as well as she did from men but it seemed like the emphasis Katie had put on the word "anything" referred to more than just cleaning.

It came as no huge surprise to Sam that her knickers were wet with more than just lukewarm beer. Having chickened out of stripping completely in front of Katie, Sam thought the next best thing would be to strip completely in fairly plain sight. Rather than the sensible option of removing her top and immediately replacing it, she removed her top and alcohol-soaked skirt one after the other, only then pulling the shirt into place. With another rush of adrenaline, she opted to turn her back on the reception desk, bending over at the waist to pull the snug-fitting trousers on one leg at a time. She felt herself blushing at the knowledge of what she was doing. Even in briefs mesh ones, at that she knew she was showing off a lot of butt, and the fact that the knickers were somewhat see-through only added to the rush.

There was a problem, though, and just not the fact that she had just potentially shown her most internally contentious feature to a complete stranger. The uniform didn't fit. Sam couldn't bring herself to turn back around just yet couldn't face the reaction she had gotten out of Katie, if any but now she was standing upright again it was clear that she couldn't fasten more than a couple of buttons on her shirt. The trousers were extremely tight and restrictive, too, and she had struggled to pull them up over her thick cheeks. Whether Sam turned to face Katie now didn't really matter; she would have to talk to her about this new problem. She tried experimentally leaning over to grab something off a nearby table and could hardly move in the restrictive trousers. The unbuttoned shirt she could handle it would even come in handy when she got messy but the job part of her night required free movement and these trousers were in no way suitable for that.

In a weird way, what she did next required more courage than the way she had undressed and re-dressed. She fastened as many buttons as she could, adjusted the trousers as best she could, and stepped out of the function room into the reception.

'Hi, uh, Katie?' Sam said uncertainly.

'Hi. Can I he Oh. I see.' Katie was stifling a smirk. Had she planned this or was she simply reacting to an amusing situation? Again, Sam couldn't be sure, but she reasoned that it didn't particularly matter right now.

'It's a big, er, snug,' Sam replied, motioning with both arms to the general state of her clothing.

'I see, I see. Yeah, sorry about that. I guess I misjudged. Well, listen, I'm heading off any minute now, but I can't leave you like that. You've got your uniform off, so hand me that and I'll go put it in the dryer and while I'm there I'll grab you the next size up.'

'Thank-you so much,' Sam replied in earnest.

'Don't mention it. Although, there is one thing you could do to help me,' Katie said, lips pursed in that increasingly familiar coy expression.

'Sure. You're helping me, I can help you.'

'Well, I am off the clock any second now, and I would like to get home, so rather than me making multiple trips to the laundry room it would really help speed things along if you could hand me that uniform now. Turn two trips into one.'

Every interaction she shared with Katie so far suddenly clicked into place. She had made this innocent-sounding request so sweetly, in the same even tone as the last one like she was asking a tiny favour. Her face gave the game away completely, though. The contrast between her knowing look and her innocent voice spoke volumes about why Katie really wanted Sam to undress here and now.

Sam felt another tingle of adrenaline. It came from a similar place, mentally, as the previous ones, but this one felt different somehow. Shared, might be a good way of describing it. Sam felt a flush rising in her cheeks again, and she knew immediately that she was going to do it. The only doubt she had now was whether Katie was enjoying exerting this power over Sam or if she was just straight up trying to see her naked or close to. It didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. Either way, Sam was into it.

She couldn't bring herself to look Katie in the eye, but Sam did undress in front of her. She didn't really know much about giving a striptease, but she took her time, enjoying the variety of strong, conflicting emotions she felt, savouring them. Her heart was pounding by the time she got the last button of her shirt undone although there had only been three in the first place. She felt Katie's eyes on her instinctively, not needing to see them, and the feeling only got more intense as she unfastened the trousers. There was no need, nor room, to do make the same show of removing them again, but every inch she lowered them over her juicy thighs and shapely calves, seemed to set her heart racing even faster than it already was.

She eventually stood upright again, not quite feeling the courage of her convictions and entirely unsure of where to put her hands. She switched between folding them across her well-endowed chest, resting them on her hips and even linking them behind her back. When she realised the effect the latter was having on her posture, she removed it from the rotation.

'I'll just take those then, shall?' Katie asked in a slightly patronising tone, crouching to pick the Spurtley Hall uniform that Sam had simply left on the floor absently.

'Oh, sorry,' Sam blurted, still fidgeting uncomfortably.

'Don't worry about it. I'm enjoying the view.' Katie let that comment linger as she stood back up. 'Right, I'll be back in a minute. Don't go anywhere.'

Sam watched her leave with her own uniform and the hotel's, admitting to herself that she, too, was enjoying the view, though likely not quite as much as Katie enjoyed hers. She had no intention of going anywhere, anyway. She didn't know how many, if any, people were staying in the hotel, but the idea of bumping into customers in her current state of undress was not an appealing one. She was adrenaline-d out for the time being, and even the thought of facing Katie again was only bearable because it meant she would finally have some more clothes to put on.

The receptionist was only gone a matter of minutes, but for Sam it felt much longer. She still didn't know what to do, where to look, what parts of herself to attempt to cover up. Luckily, the place seemed to be properly deserted, so that by the time Katie did return with a fresh uniform, Sam was still totally alone.

'Here we go,' Katie said. 'I went two sizes up, just to be safe. No offence meant, but better to be loose and comfortable than uncomfortably tight.'

Sam couldn't quite believe how nonchalantly Katie was acting and it added a new ingredient into the cocktail over emotions she was feeling: inadequacy. Was her lingerie-clad body not worthy of more than just practical assistance and those earlier, somewhat judgemental, ocular pat-downs? It was all so confusing.

'Right,' she said lamely. 'Thanks.'

'I'll be off then,' Katie said as Sam started to dress yet again. 'You've got quite a job on your hands in there, I reckon, so maybe I'll see you in the morning if you're still here at six.'

'Thanks for you help,' Sam replied. 'I appreciate it.'

'Me too,' Katie said knowingly. 'Say hi to Lucy for me.'

Sam was halfway through pulling the new, better-fitting trousers into place when Katie dropped that bombshell. By the time she could her mouth around a coherent sentence to say 'excuse me,' Katie was already half-way to the hotel's main entrance.

'I said, say hello to Lucy for me. Oh, and have fun. Merry Christmas.' All of this was shouted from the doorway on her way out. Had she winked at that last part? Yet again, Sam couldn't be certain, but it certainly wouldn't have been out of character as far as Sam now knew Katie, nor would it have been inappropriate for what she had said.

Either way, Sam was alone again. Fully dressed this time, which was probably an improvement, but with an entire function room to tidy.

An entire function room full of half-eaten meals. Merry Christmas indeed, Sam thought. No wonder Lucy had been so insistent.

As luck would have it, the tidying of mundane objects like empty glasses, clean crockery and various scraps of garish wrapping paper didn't take too long. It gave Sam chance to wind down a little, regain some composure and generally just get her heart rate back under control. Few things extinguish the flames of arousal quite like vacuuming a large room. It wasn't long before she was bored, though, and at that point her mind started to wander again.

Katie was gone. Sameena was the only one here until six in the morning, and she would soon have most of the boring stuff in-hand. Of course, she needed to account for cleaning up after she had made a mess of herself, but that was a problem for Future Sam to deal with. She could work fast when the need arose, and she was already doing so in truth. The quicker she got this boring stuff out of the way, the quicker she get round to she paused that train of thought and glanced around the room for inspiration stuffing her bra with apple sauce and stuffing. How very appropriate.

Still, it was difficult for Sam to resist getting mucky as she went just to whet the appetite and keep her arousal ticking over. Indeed, she didn't resist for long, but she kept things simple and relatively subtle to begin with, finding enjoyment in the simplicity of scraping platefuls of food into a bin with her bear hands instead of using cutlery. It was her a little bit of that delinquent release she craved without causing her to break down and just start wantonly playing with herself right away. It made for a fun game of trying to maintain the balance between total monotony and utter depravity.

Things naturally amped up over time, though. What started as sloppy hands quickly devolved into sitting firmly, but carefully, onto half-full plates of gravy-soaked leftovers. Trying to continue normally while gravy and squished food slowly soaked through her skirt and knickers became an ever-increasing challenge. The moment she felt something wet and slimy she couldn't even be sure what it was touch her wet pussy, she knew the game was over. She couldn't resist any more. She had broken through her own defences and now she had to have more mess, all the mess, right now.

Sameena was sitting in someone's half-eaten dinner when she realised this. She glanced around eagerly for something to add to the mess, thoughts of her responsible, sensible plan abandoned in an instant. The first thing that came to hand was, unsurprisingly, another plate of leftovers. It was just slightly out of reach, which meant she needed to move to get it. That suited her just fine, and with a playful giggle she slit forward in her seat, causing the food-sludge under her arse to move and squelch. Whatever had hit her pussy probably gravy if she had to guess fully spurted up her slippery slit at this point, and she almost lost focus on the simple task of grabbing the next plate.

She got it, gripped it, then sat back again. The same squelching, slop shifting happened in reverse, and a whole load of mixed gunk sluiced between her buttocks instead. Part of her wanted to continue rocking back and forth in this manner, but she could do that any time, and there were so many other riches to explore. She eyed up the plate she had grabbed, only now looking at it properly and finding that it was more of the same leftovers vegetables slathered in gravy. Mashed potato featured prominently, but there were overcooked carrots that looked surprisingly promising amid what she assumed was bread sauce, what she knew was apple sauce, and what appeared to be cranberry sauce. Evidently this particular diner had valued quantity over culinary cohesion. That was fine by Sam, as she angled the plate into the neckline of her polo shirt and let it all slide off in one continuous, sluggish flow. It hit her cleavage with a heavy splat and spread out from there, filling the pretty bra she had chosen to wear. The stodgy, sludgy sensation against her nipples made her shiver, but Sam kept the plate in place until she had gotten everything it had to offer.

Even the shiver helped her get messier. The way it made her breasts jiggle, even slightly, caused the mixture of sauces and mushy vegetables to bounce too, massaging her stiff, sensitive nipples.

Any lingering sense of propriety disappeared there and then, and Sam quickly found herself looking around for more fuel. Damn subtlety and delayed gratification, she wanted something sloppy in her knickers and she wanted it now. Besides, she had started with savoury slop. If half-eaten dinners and cold, lumpy gravy hadn't given her pause, she doubted anything in the room would. Time to start grabbing and get pouring.

The next plate was more of the same, but in a different ratio. Gravy still dominated, but big clumps of bread sauce were everywhere. Cranberry and apple were scarcer, but it didn't matter to Sam: sticky slop was sticky slop. She hefted the plate in her left hand, fiddled with her skirt with her right until it dropped to the floor. No need for that now. It wasn't as if it was going to protect her dignity, not with what she had in mind. Her right hand, free again, held the elastic of her sheer briefs away from her stomach, and in went the plates contents.

This time, holding the plate vertically meant the slop hit the gusset of her knickers in one go and within a second. It could only go one way from there, and Sam cringed and giggled at the feeling of thick gunk running over her labia and between her arse cheeks. There is no way she could resist wriggling, didn't even try, and makes herself giggle again thanks to the feeling of the slop being shifted and bounced around her most sensitive, intimate body parts. Not wanting to get carried away too soon, she puts a little full stop on this plateful by firmly patting the front of her now-bulging knickers, which caused a minor explosion of mixed slop to force its way out of the leg holes.

She might have been trying to maintain some calm, but that didn't mean she wanted to let up on the mess. Scanning her surroundings, the next thing her eyes settle on is the first sweet of the night: a bowl of mushed up Christmas cake, slathered in lashings of some or other dairy product. Sam had it in her hands within seconds, and could smell the booze without trying. The cake didn't look particularly appetising, but then she wasn't intending to eat it. It did look a little more solid that she might have hoped for, however, so she opted to remedy that by lifting it up and squelching it in her fist. It gave way easily, satisfyingly soft and malleable.

She dropped it into the creamy, boozy mess. It looked more suitable for purpose now. But where to put it. Sam didn't want to spend too long thinking things over, so she put it in the first relatively clean place that came to mind. She held it awkwardly behind her back giving herself a sloppy, lumpy mini-wedgie in the process pulled the other side of her knickers away from herself and tilted the bowl upright. The result was instantaneous: lumpy, creamy slop ran right between her soft, round cheeks, and splattered into the mixed goo that already filled her knickers. Sam let out a little "oh" sound, followed by a muted squeal as she tried to keep quiet, followed by yet another giggle.

Her knickers were struggling at this point, bulging ridiculously and sagging under the weight of a variety of things they weren't designed to contain. Sam didn't properly notice this for a while, though. She was preoccupied with the intensely icky, somehow arousing feeling of all that gunk sloshing around her sensitive and sticky pussy. It wasn't just sticky from the food, either a fact of which she was much more keenly aware.

Tentatively at first, then with increasingly assured pressure, Sam started to prod the bulges in her own knickers. Each time one moved or squelched, she shuddered with a familiar mixture of bliss and repulsion. Every prod spurred her on to doing it again and before long she was just squishing bulges against her own cunt with the palm of her hand. It was one simple, quite natural step from there to masturbating through her food-soaked knickers a step she took eagerly.

Not yet, she told herself abruptly, realising just how easily she could get carried away. She knew she could make herself cum very easily, very quickly, but she wanted more. She wanted to be adding to her own destruction at the same time. Release would be fun, but it could be better. It wasn't perfect, not yet.

Scanning around, almost in desperation, her eyes landed on the whole grail a splosh classic: trifle. It was somewhat depleted, of course, but its imperfection was, in its own weird way, perfect. It was damaged goods, just like Sameena herself. She had to have it, consequences be damned. Cleaning up spilled jelly and custard would make her job significantly harder, but, she had already designated such issues to Future Sam.

She had to go get it, though. It was at the head of a long, fancy-looking table that ran most of the length of the suite she was supposed to be cleaning. Without further delay without opening the door to talk herself down she set off on hands and knees, revelling in the silliness and humiliation of crawling like an animal. It was a little rough on her knees, but worth it for the inimitable sensation of lumpy goo sloshing around her knickers and bra. The food she had stuffed into that bra stood no chance of staying there at this angle, and especially not when her breasts started swinging heavily beneath her. Every single crawled step was the same lumpy mess dislodged or displaced, rubbing intimately against her.

Amusingly, the final part of the journey was the messiest of all. The momentum of the mess continued even when Sam came to a halt, causing it to slap against the inside of her clothing. Then it moved once again as she got to her feet, a steady trickle of gunk running down her stomach where it had overflowed her bra. She had left a broken trail of miniature puddles behind, she noticed, but that was more trouble for Future Same. Present Sam had a date with a trifle to attend.

Sameena lifted the trifle bowl with something approaching reverence, like a sportswoman lifting her first trophy, and was surprised by the weight of the thing. She would need to be careful with it. It felt expensively heavy and looked impressively detailed. Certainly it would cost more to replace than she would earn from this job. Thank goodness for the perks, she thought to herself with a self-satisfied grin.

Less surprising was the fact that there was still plenty of trifle left. Judging by the amount of leftover main courses, few of the guests had had room for pudding. Fine by Sam all the more for her to play with. Not wanting to overthink things, she started by plunging one hand to the bottom of the bowl, getting a feel for the texture, literally, and enjoying the indulgent silliness of the whole experience. Her fingers wriggled and sprawled as they sank through fluffy, pliant cream, on through silky-smooth custard, past the mushy sponge fingers and super sticky strawberries and jam. She still hadn't entirely made her mind up where all of this was going to go, but she knew it was going to be an interesting mix of texture, at least.

Sam pulled her arm out, slathered in sweet goo up to the elbow. She was in danger of overthinking things and talking herself down, but she had an idea of how to handle the trifle that wouldn't go away. If she didn't want to risk breaking it, lifting it and pouring it didn't seem ideal. She would have to bring herself to the trifle as opposed to bringing the trifle to her. It was head-dunking time.

In all of Sam's messy sessions so far, she couldn't easily remember giving herself a proper head-dunking. Having done her research, she knew that was something she needed to remedy, and what better time than now? She glanced around, thinking about the mess it would make, trying to put obstacles in her own way. What if Katie came back? Forgot her keys or something.

No. Fuck it. She positioned herself beside the huge bowl, took a deep breath, and pushed her face into the slimy abyss. She went slowly but steadily, needing to be careful of the glassware but wanting to get as deep as she could. The creamy top layer gave no resistance at all, nor did the custard, though she enjoyed the tell-tale change in texture. The custard was luxuriously smooth and Sam took her time pushing through that part, becoming very aware of the fact that if anybody did come back, they would find her craning over the trifle dish with her arse right up in the air, and that it would only get higher from here.

She pressed on regardless, her nose pushing past the soft but still solid, mushy sponge, her head now totally engulfed in slop. She had to adjust her positioning in order to facilitate her need to reach the bottom of the bowl. She was half-standing, half-crouching by the time she felt the solid glass with her nose. Her face was right in the sticky jam and mushy strawberries at this point, and she twisted it from side to side, feeling the sticky resistance, focusing on it. Her hand made its way between her sticky thighs, and the moment was almost perfect except for one thing. She was totally out of breath.

Disappointed, Sam pulled back out, taking care not to flick her hair back like a shampoo advert and flick mess all over the place. Her heart was pounding in her ears, though, and she could feel the fact that the slop was running off her face and down her chest. She cupped her breasts, squelching the slop that had collected in her bra and taking great satisfaction in the way it overflowed. Her enjoyment was helped by the fact that she was able to squeeze her nipples with decent accuracy thanks to the flimsy nature of the fabric.

Sam needed to get back in there. She needed to cum with her face down in the bottom of that sticky monstrosity. Nobody could see her, she knew logically, and if she was totally honest she would love someone to come in and take advantage of the vulnerable position she was putting herself in. That image was all the convincing she needed a second later, she was plunging her face into the already-ruined trifle. She was still somewhat careful, but there was a frantic eagerness to her movements now, and her hand was between her thighs before she even fully submerged her face.

Her fingering still through the sloppy knickers was similarly frantic and similarly controlled. It was making life under the trifle difficult, but she was determined to finish up like this an absurd mess, face-down in someone's discarded pudding, arse up in the air. Not for the first time in her WAM life, nor the first time today, she imagined being walked in on. What an image she would make. She could picture the utter bafflement, the nervous laughter turning and bafflement fading into more genuinely amused, appalled chuckling. Both humiliating in their own way both delicious. This was extremely inappropriate behaviour, after all, and that thought was what finally pushed her over the edge.

Well, that and her fingers circling her swollen clitoris over and over.

Finally, Sam pulled out of the trifle bowl for a second time, mouth agape. She slumped back on her knees, gasping for breath and with a warm glow spreading all over her. Sludge was dripping over her face and chest even now, and she was dimly aware of the fact that the sticky unpleasantness was soon going to override the glow and the visceral pleasure, but for the time being she could bask in her orgasm and think about nothing.

She probably should have asked Katie about a shower. Oh well.

Fetching around for her phone, Sam wiped her fingers on a relatively clean patch of her discarded top, snapped a relatively innocuous picture of the t-shirt, and sent it, with a very brief message, to Lucy: "Merry Christmas."

'Ahem.'

Sameena nearly jumped out of her skin. She looked up, only now noticing the shadow over her, and there stood Katie.