That's Mucked Up - The Professor
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-To: That's Mucked Up!
Hey, ran across your ad online. I'm a college football player, and part of our studies is a health class, and the professor is an asshole. He's a jackass, treats us like idiots, and has started calling us cavemen. I think he needs to be taught a lesson. Your ad said you can take anyone down and destroy any dignity they had. You up for the job?
-From: Liam Archer

-To: Liam Archer
Indeed I am, let's talk how we'll ruin the man.
-From That's Mucked Up!

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Professor Mike Harris hated his Health Class group. Hated all of them. Sweaty, idiotic, brash and rude, just like all the jocks he was forced to teach. He resented them all, and wasn't afraid of showing it. They were all the same; lazy, didn't care, and asked stupid questions. Mike hated every last one of them. His marks and attitude reflected that.

He wondered if they noticed he didn't like them. Probably not. Meat-heads.

Due to office refurbishments, they'd had to take their lessons in the outside college amphitheatre, which made things worse than normal. The hoard of sweaty morons were rowdy, and showed even less care than usual. They all seemed so fidgety as if they were waiting for something. Not to mention just how many of them had their cell phones resting on their thighs or on their textbooks. They weren't even trying to look like they were paying attention. Mike would get them back.

"Shut up, Cavemen," He yelled into the crowd. "Today, I had planned to look at the bone structure of the foot, and what can cause these bones to break. That is, assuming you have all done the work I set for the weekend. Have you?"

The class all voiced that they had, but Mike didn't believe them for a moment. Even if they were a little louder and more enthusiastic than normal, they weren't to be trusted.

"Very well, a pop quiz to see how honest you've been," Mike proclaimed, and the morons groaned. Not as loudly as normal, but Mike ignored that. "Question one. What is the third smallest bone-"

"Excuse me, Mister Harris," An unfamiliar voice, British and male, cut him off. Mike huffed.

"Professor Harris," Mike corrected as he turned to look at the man. Thin, tall, and dressed in a lavish looking three piece suit, the man stuck out like a thumb in the sea of jocks. "I'm teaching, can this wait?"

"I need Liam Archer, do you have him?"

Mike sighed and gestured to the mass of idiots, to where Liam had stood up already. Liam was the worst of the lot, and it showed. Even in this class, he'd removed his shirt and wore nothing but a pair of shorts. No doubt this was to attract the men he supposedly had eating out of his hands, but Mike didn't care. Even outside, this was a classroom and he should be dressed appropriately. Hopefully the man who had interrupted them would take Liam away for the day; any lessons without Liam were a relief.

Liam jogged down the steps of the amphitheatre, but didn't leave, and neither did the stranger. They looked at each other in a silent conversation, and Mike quickly was getting annoyed. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Liam took three steps, grabbed Mike by the arms and pinned them behind his back.

"What the hell are you doing?" Mike demanded, struggling against Liam.

"Let me explain," The stranger said smoothly, placing a briefcase on Mike's lectern. Mike watched as he pulled out what looked like a pie crust and a can of shaving cream. "My name is Anthony Gamble, I'm a freelancer you see. Your students contacted me and informed me of your biases. Biases against jocks, football players in particular. You're apparently rude and unfair to them. They want revenge."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Mike demanded. "Let me go this instant."

"He will, once we're done," Anthony soothed and filled the pie crust with shaving cream. "But for now, let's enjoy this shall we."

Slowly, cockily, Anthony lifted the pie and pushed it into Mike's gaping face. Mike barely had a moment to shut his eyes before the thick cream was shoved deep into him, claggy and all encompassing and so mucky. He felt the pie crust cracking around him and froze, a rush of humiliation taking over.

He had just been pied in the face in front of his most hated class. What the hell!

The hand pushing the pie retracted, and the crust and a few dollops of cream fell off, slopping down his chest and covering his shirt and khakis. He gaped for a moment, shock taking over as a fraction of his sight was given back. He could see cell phones pointed at him. Recording him.

"Turn those off this instant!" He demanded, voice morphed by the cream.

"But we're not done yet," Anthony taunted, walking away for a moment. He reached behind one of the seats and picked something up. A bucket.

"We most certainly are," Mike growled, spitting out cream. "Liam, let go of me or you'll be expelled. This instant!"

"No he won't," Anthony taunted. "Not if you don't want the file of student complaints to be sent to the board of governors. And let me be clear, we have hundreds of complaints from football players past and present. Will that look good, do you think?"

"You you wouldn't!"

"You probably think I wouldn't pour this over your head," Anthony hefted the bucket. "But I will." Mike started to struggle against Liam's grasp again, but couldn't. Anthony lifted the bucket so that it was tipped slightly, but not yet pouting it's contents over Mike. Mike struggled as Anthony looked past him and at Liam. "This will likely hit you too. Is that okay?"

"So long as he gets the worst of it, you can do anything to me," Liam laughed, and Mike growled.

"Good man," Anthony praised. "Tip his head up."

Liam did as he was told, and Mike was forced to look up at the spout of the bucket. He watched with horror as a thick, syrupy and oddly red glob of porridge slowly dripped over the edge of the bucket. With a wet slap, it fell straight onto his face, and the revolting stickiness of it slid down his features, coating him completely. The scent of it was overwhelming, and he gagged when he released what it was. Ketchup. It had been mixed with the porridge. Mike hated ketchup. Hated it!

He couldn't stop another gag, and in doing so he swallowed a glob of it, which he coughed out. The mess slowly began to slide down his body, heavy and sticky and humiliating. The taunts and laughter from his class rang in his ears, and he lowered his head as if to hide. All that did was allow his tormentors to pour the porridge over his perfectly styled hair. It was ruined.

God, there were so many cameras pointed at him, he just knew it.

With a thunk, the bucket was dropped onto his head, shrouding him in darkness. He heard Liam's stupid, moronic laughter echoing as he tried desperately to buck the bucket off his head, and once he had done it he turned to look at the student with a horrid glare. The porridge and cream meant it could hardly be seen.

Liam was roaring with laughter and still not letting Mike go. Porridge had splattered against the frat boy's chest and face, dripping down to his abs, but he didn't seem to care. He was living for Mike's total humiliation.

"Mister - oh I'm sorry - professor Harris. Look this way please," Anthony ordered, and Mike didn't have a choice but to comply.

The second he turned his head, he was face to face with a super soaker like device, but more of a cannon than a gun. He could barely blink before Anthony was tugging on the trigger. A deluge of yellow and green slime, thick and slimy, was shot at his face directly. He spluttered as he was covered by the lube like liquid, thrashing again to stop the heavy stream of gunge hitting him.

Anthony lowered his aim, but kept shooting. What remained of his button up shirt was covered in the slimy mess, drenching him. The thin fabric didn't do anything to protect him, and he could feel the gloop sticking to his skin and plastering the shirt to him.

Lower still, the gunge started to hit his trousers, and he winced at the pressure against his crotch. His brown khakis did nothing against the torrent of slime, and he could only pant and weakly fight Liam's grasp again. He could feel the slime slipping down his legs, pooling in his shoes, and he loudly groaned at the stickiness between his toes. It clung to his skin like glue. His hair would be ruined!

"Liam dear," Anthony said, stopping the gunge cannon. "Turn him around if you can."

"Yessir," Liam laughed.

Mike was roughly turned around, his hands now held together by his wrists and above his head. Now face to face with Liam, he could see that his student was just as covered in the glue-slime, and seemed joyous at the feeling. Mike wanted to scream.

With force, the slime cannon was back on again and covering his back, his ass, his legs, and his hair with its gloopy ammo. Mike wanted to cry, and when he glanced at his students, he saw them all still filming him. Dread filled him as he heard one of them commenting on the attack, and he lamely realised that this was being streamed live somehow. God Dammit!

The cannon was flicked off, and a dead silence filled the space. For a sweet moment, Mike thought he was safe, but then Anthony spoke again and all hope died.

"Who else wants to try it?"

"No," Mike tried to argue, spitting out slime covered porridge. "That's enough."

"Did I mention I contacted a student named Phillip Evans," Anthony taunted, and Mike shut his mouth. That student in particular had been expelled on very flimsy reasoning, and him getting in contact with the admin team meant the end to Mike's career.

"Fine," Mike grunted. "Just, don't tell anyone."

"You hear that, gentlemen, your teacher wants more," Anthony grins as he speaks to the crowd. "I almost feel bad I got there first. A blank canvas is much more fun. But maybe I can help with that."

Mike watched as Anthony adorned a pair of white gloves, then pulled out a pair of scissors. He got on one knee and placed the scissors at the hem of Mike's trousers. Mike barely had time to yell as one leg of his khakis was destroyed.

A moment later, the other leg was cut in two, and with some more quick snips, Mike felt his pants fall to the ground, entirely cut in two. His heart hammered as his tighty whities were exposed to his most obnoxious class. His shirt was cut up and tugged away a moment later, leaving him in nothing but his most humiliating underwear, covered in slime and food.

The laughter would haunt him for years. He knew it.

"Now, there are three tables set up with everything you'll need, my good men," Anthony grinned, and Mike watched in horror as his class looked at him like a wolf would look at his pray. "Have fun!"

In a rush of movement, Mike watched as his hated students rushed to the tables that had been hidden from sight, and came back with all manner of food and mess. There was a moment where they all surrounded him with their messy weapon of choice, and slowly the first man walked up to him. It was Bruce - a pig headed and scruffy idiot - holding two eggs in one hand and a can of mushed up tomatoes in the other.

Without speaking, he walked up to mike. He battered both eggs into Mike's head, cracking them and making the yolk explode and drip down his hair and over his face. The can of tomatoes was slopped onto the top of his head then rubbed in, the scent worse than the ketchup had been.

"I'd like to see ya complain about my hair now, Prof."

With his words, everyone began. One by one, his students walked to him. They complained, then messed him up. Eggs, pies, tins of slush, super soakers filled with slime, flour, milkshakes, glue, feathers, and things that Mike had never seen before. They were all slammed into every part of his overly exposed body, and Mike nearly cried as his skin was covered with gunge of every sort.

He was such a mess.

No part of him could be seen under it.

How would he ever live this down?

The smell was awful.

The feeling was awful.

He just wanted this to be over!

"Now gentlemen, I think it's time to give dear Liam a go, since he's so gallantly been taking the scraps of slime you've been giving your Professor," Anthony proclaimed, and got a cheer from the class, who all stepped back. "And of course, he deserves a blank canvas of his own, don't you think?"

Mike, for a second, thought he'd get cleaned up somehow. Instead, Anthony pulled out those scissors again, and a deep fear filled Mike. "No, you can't. Please."

"I won't. But only if you can promise me the tales of you walking into locker rooms and parading your students to your class, no matter how undressed they may be in, are exaggerated," Anthony offered.

Mike felt sick. That had been once, with one student who was always late. Mike had caught him when he was only wearing his boxers, and he'd forced the man to sit like that through his class. It was only once. But still, Mike was an awful liar, so he stayed silent.

With two snips, his tighty whities were destroyed, and Mike was naked in front of the cavemen. Laughter and whooping filled the space.

"For our most respectable strongman, I have the most lavish of weapons," Anthony said grandiosity, opening his briefcase again to reveal two deep, thick, sloppy chocolate pies. "You can let him go, he's not likely to run off in this state."

Liam did, and as much as Mike wanted to run and hide, where the hell would he go. He was humiliated enough as it was; he didn't need more people seeing his messy, naked body. Liam turned to look at Mike and laughed at the state, even though he'd been covered in nearly as much slop as Mike himself had.

Carefully, Liam picked up the two pies, a smug grin on his messy face. He circled Mike like a shark, until suddenly he acted.

SPLAT!

One of the chocolate pies was shoved hard and fast into Mike's bare ass, sliding up his crack and covering his weedy, hairy cheeks. Mike squawked at the feeling as it went deep inside of him, and his eyes fell on the nearest phone that was recording him. God only knew how stupid he looked.

SPLOOGE!

His cock and balls felt the pie next, thick and gloopy and revolting. Then his pubes, then his body. It splattered hard and made him groan in disgust, and stuck to his dick like syrup.

"Please," Mike whispered. "Please say that's it."

"Will you treat your sportsmen like any of your other students?" Anthony probed. "And be honest, because I can always come back if I hear of other complaints about your behaviour."

"I will," Mike promised. "I will. Please, just no more."

Anthony looked for a moment, then nodded. "You're done. So long as you're satisfied Liam."

"More than you can believe," Liam laughed, rubbing a hand down his face and flicking the slime he gathered at Mike. "It's brilliant."

"My clothes," Mike said, looking at the remains of his outfit, all of which was not unusable after the scissors. "Surely you must have a towel or something for me. You do, don't you?"

"We have something," Anthony grinned, reaching into his blazer pocket. "Since you call your students cavemen so often, I thought it appropriate."

Mike looked down in horror at the leopard print loincloth that he was being handed. Just a scrap of cloth, barely enough to cover his dick at all, with a rope to tie around his waist. He went to say anything, but Anthony looked at him with a challenge in his eyes, and Mike took the loincloth without arguing. He tied it around his waist so it covered his cock, and grunted.

"What now?" He demanded.

"You could beat your chest, caveman," Liam quipped.

"Your nearest showers are in the sports building, and they might have some clothes spare for you. I've heard there's a lot of cheerleading costumes ready," Anthony grinned. "That's probably all you'll get, after pissing off the coach by failing all his star players year after year."

Mike waited for something more, but didn't get anything. Cameras were still pointed at him, slime and gunk was still slipping down his face, and he couldn't do this anymore. He stormed off towards the sports building, arms crossed and fury coursing through him. He would get revenge for this. He would. He just would.

A large gust of wind struck him, and the loincloth flew up. Laughter hit Mike's ears and Mike looked up in horror to see who was laughing at him.

The coach, and the prospective players for next year's football team.

Total humiliation complete. Fuck!

________________________________________

-To: Liam Archer
I do hope my work was enough for you. From what I've seen on YouTube, you got the reaction you wanted, but I thought I should ask you just in case. Customer satisfaction (and victim dissatisfaction) are very important to me.
-From: That's Mucked Up!

-To: That's Mucked Up!
Dude, it was amazing. Amazing. One of the best days of my life. He can't look at anyone in the eye, and the College tried to spin it as a charity thing, so now he's had to do an interview with the local news and he has to pretend he enjoyed it. Worth every penny.
-From: Liam Archer

-To: Liam Archer
I'm glad to hear it. I must say, you did get awfully messy yourself and didn't seem at all bothered by it. That's admirable. I'm hoping to make my little business bigger, and having an assistant of sorts - one who isn't scared to take a pie or two - would be very helpful indeed. If you're looking for some extra money, I'd be happy to employ you from time to time.
-From: That's Mucked Up!

-To: That's Mucked Up!
Hah! Pie or two? More like half the gunk in the world. But hell yeah I'm up for that. It was pretty fun (and kinda hot). Call me anytime you need a henchman. I'd love to help.
-From: Liam Archer

-To: Liam Archer
Excellent. I look forward to it, Liam.
-From: That's Mucked Up!





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[[Hey, hope you all liked it, It was fun to write. I might write some other stories about people hiring Anthony and Liam for messy revenge, and I have a few ideas. If anyone has any plots they think could be fun, I'd love to hear them, but men only please.]]