Chapter 1

Cara sat once more at her kitchen table, the events of the previous evening still swirling around in her mind. She'd returned home after the panicked morning coffee with Jenny, sleeping off her earlier anxiety. She'd considered going to work but soon realised her mind was far from in a suitable place for a day of education, and had used the age-old "sick day" to recover.

As she glanced up at the clock again, she slowly turned the "SHOWTIME" card between her fingers, studying the text closely.

Upon closer inspection, the card had borne the words of caution Jenny had mentioned, and Cara was sure she wasn't going to make that mistake again. She finally placed the card back down. She picked up the shoes and dress, bringing them to her nose and studying the material in detail. There wasn't the slightest hint of a smell or even a tiny blemish on the material.

"How?" she exclaimed -- then became conscious she was still alone. She glanced at the red satin underwear, which still held signs of her excitement from the night before.

"Oh shit," she muttered, grabbing them and throwing them quickly into the wash. Jenny would be round in two hours, and neither of them knew if they'd be wearing their own underwear from the parcels or each other's.

Cara paced the kitchen, unsure what best to do while she waited. She considered putting protective sheets down but shook her head at the foolish idea when no trace of the previous night's mess could be found anyway.

Time slowly crept by until, after eating, downing a good few glasses of wine, and ensuring the underwear had been carefully returned to the packaging, the doorbell signalled Jenny's arrival.

Chapter 2

Cara took a deep breath, straightened her skirt, and opened the door with a smile. Jenny stood on the doorstep, parcel in hand, grinning from ear to ear. Cara let out a laugh at her friend's expression.

"Come in," she said, stepping back from the door.

Jenny nodded, slipping past Cara and setting her box down on the kitchen table next to Cara's. She smiled as she noticed the opened wine bottle and empty glass.

"Relaxing, are you?" she said with a wink.

"You bet," Cara quipped back. "I want to be nice and relaxed."

Cara moved to the side of the table, slipping into one of the chairs, and beckoned for Jenny to sit. Jenny slipped into the chair opposite and poured herself a glass from the bottle.

"Help yourself," giggled Cara, looking at the nearly empty bottle.

"Thanks, I will," grinned Jenny.

"So something occurred to me," Cara said, looking at her friend. "How did Your Desires Clothing find you"? I can only guess how they found me -- but you? What's the story?"

Jenny shifted slightly in her seat, a sheepish grin on her face.

"Ermmm well, you might not be the only one who's watched some of those videos online," she admitted with a broad grin. "I think you're right -- they must've traced that somehow. It's the only explanation, surely."

Cara nodded. It still bugged her how all this was happening -- how they'd found them both, and still, what exactly had happened. But tonight, they were determined to find out.

"Did you bring it?" she asked, looking up at Jenny again.

"Certainly did," Jenny replied, reaching into her bag and pulling out a battered video camera. She playfully rubbed her hand over the dented casing.

"Seen some kinky times," she said, raising her eyebrows at the camera.

"Too much info, thanks," laughed Cara, taking the camera with two fingers to play up the camera's kinky past.

She positioned it on the shelf, pointing towards the kitchen table.

"Okay, so I've been thinking how best to do this," she said, returning to her seat. "The camera covers the entire table, so I'll go at one end and you go at the other, then the camera will capture us both."

Jenny nodded. "Yeah, that sounds like a plan. Then we'll know what's happening."

After further discussion, they agreed it must be the cards that triggered things, as both had worn the clothes for quite a while before anything had happened. With a sense of trepidation, they agreed to dress separately and return to the kitchen to test their theory.

With a mutual nod, they picked up each other's boxes and headed off to change.

Chapter 3

After the previous evening, Cara had expected to know what to expect when dressing, but as she slipped into the tight, form-fitting latex dress, she was amazed by how naturally the material hugged her figure, becoming a second skin.

"Wow," she thought, running her fingers over her body. This feels hot.

Despite the tight contours, she didn't feel exposed the way she had in the French maid outfit -- instead she felt strong, confident, and downright sexy.

She slipped her feet into the heels, smiling at the subtle differences between Jenny's pair -- now snugly on her feet -- and the pair she'd worn the night before. A thin ankle strap weaved up from the shoe, caressing her ankles. She stood carefully, wriggling the latex down to cover the edge of her red satin panties again. She smoothed the material one final time and stepped back into the kitchen.

Jenny had already returned, finding the French maid outfit much quicker to dress in than the latex dress. She playfully curtsied as Cara entered the room.

"Good evening, ma'am," she said, grinning ear to ear.

"Someone knows her place," giggled Cara, carefully walking in the slightly restrictive dress. She made her way to the camera.

"So, this is set for three hours of recording, and I think it was only thirty minutes at most yesterday. We should be okay," she said, pressing buttons and waving her hand in front of the lens to ensure it was recording.

She carefully shuffled back to her seat and lowered herself into the chair.

"Okay -- it's recording," she said, looking at Jenny. "Are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Jenny replied, now looking slightly tense.

Together, they picked up their cards and counted down.

321SHOWTIME.

Chapter 4

Cara took a deep breath as she uttered the words SHOWTIME and slowly exhaled. Her limbs stiffened once again, though not as rigidly as before--good, she thought. She closed her eyes for a moment, waiting for her speech to take over. A voice, deeper this time and not her own, resonated in her ears.

"Let's have a big round of applause for our willing charity participant tonight, Cara, who's volunteered to take her seat in our charity 'I'm a Messalebrity Get me out of here'."

Cara's eyes shot open. Instead of the familiar kitchen, she was now seated in what could only be described as a large, round plastic tub, strapped securely to a chair. Surrounding her was what appeared to be a live TV audience, applauding enthusiastically.

"What the hell?" she exclaimed, but her speech immediately morphed again.

"Thanks well, it is for charity," came the formal, calm voice.

Cara scanned her surroundings. To her right stood a well-dressed man in his forties, holding a microphone and smiling warmly at her.

"Well, we do appreciate it," he said. "And we will be gentle," he added with a teasing grin.

Cara turned her gaze to the table in front of her. Two large bowls of porridge, two bowls of spaghetti, two bowls of baked beans, and a final bucket of what looked suspiciously like gravy.

The colours, textures, and sheer volume of it made her shiver. She tugged at her straps--nope, they weren't going anywhere.

This isn't anything like last night, she thought. Her eyes widened as the realisation hit her; somehow, these packages were tailored to her and Jenny's preferences. Oooh god, she thought. Jenny must be into this humiliating savoury mess and now I'm getting the same. Shit, she thought, once again wriggling involuntarily. The audience cheered at her display of "fake" struggling.

The announcer spoke again.

"Okay folks, let's get started! Our willing volunteer may have already seen what's in store, but for everyone else, let's go over tonight's menu: two bowls of sheep guts," he said, eliciting groans from the audience, "two bowls of worms, two bowls of tiny sheep testicles, and a final bucket of mud."

For once Cara was relieved the contents of the bowls were only porridge, baked beans, spaghetti, and gravy rather than what had been announced--but the anticipation still made her shift uncomfortably in her seat. From the side of the stage, two helpers approached, and the first bowl of porridge hovered above her head.

Before she could protest, a thick, cold stream of porridge poured over her scalp, seeping down her hair. Cool sticky rivers ran over her shoulders, snaking their way across the smooth latex before masterfully locating the gap in the dress above her cleavage and creating their way into the dress. Due to the tightness of the dress, the porridge held fast for a time, slowly increasing in volume until it overpowered the dress and pressed further down, coating her stomach with its sticky insistence to follow gravity. It crawled lower and pooled between her thighs before finally coming to rest in the seat of her dress. She gasped as the cool, lumpy texture squelched against her cheeks and thighs, pooling in intimate folds. The smell--mildly sweet and grainy--filled her nostrils, and the sticky weight of it clinging to her skin made her shiver.

The second bowl approached from behind. The zipper at her neck loosened with a gentle tug from the helper, and porridge flowed down her spine in a thick, golden waterfall. She arched slightly as it crept between the small of her back and the curve of her bum, slipping further over her panties, coating every crease. When the remaining porridge cascaded over her head again, she breathed a sigh of relief as the latex redirected the flow away from her cleavage and instead headed straight down the dress, pooling in her lap and around the tops of her shoes. Cara's hands twitched with both revulsion and an involuntary thrill as she shifted her weight, squishing porridge into interesting places.

Next came the spaghetti. The front section of the tub opened, allowing the helpers easier access. They stooped, each taking one foot, slowly and deliberately unbuckling the straps holding her shoes in place. Without even thinking, Cara started to squirm in her chair again, the sound of porridge squishing between her thighs in the chair. One of the helpers let out an involuntary laugh at the sound but regained her composure, looking up at Cara and mouthing a sheepish sorry. As the final strap released, the heels were slowly removed. She felt, as if in slow motion, her bare feet being raised and pressed into the bowls of slippery noodles. The cold, slippery strands snaked between her toes, wrapped around the arches of her feet, and squished against her soles with every tiny shift. She hissed at the cold, tangy tomato sauce coating every inch of her feet and ankles. Each movement sent squelches and slurps echoing through the room. The audience cheered with every wriggle, almost encouraging the mess to find new ways to tease her delicate toes.

The announcer encouraged her. "Isn't she doing well?" The audience roared. Cara allowed a small, helpless smile--she was trapped, sticky, and squishy, yet undeniably starting to get caught up in the chaotic sensory overload.

"Okay, that's porridge and spaghetti. Beans and gravy are left. I can do this," she muttered, tightening her grip on the chair arms.

"I CAN DO IT!" she screamed, her voice finally coming through clearly. Typical, she thought, as she heard her voice.

The audience erupted once more with more ferocity than ever with Cara's scream, with the cheering and whooping almost drowning out the announcer, announcing the next time.

The two helpers returned, each holding a bowl of glossy, baked beans. The thick, ruby-red liquid glistened, catching the studio lights. As it poured over her head, the aroma hit her--tangy, and slightly sweet. The beans, whilst not as heavy as the porridge, certainly carried some weight to them but were also aided by the smooth sauce. They slid slowly over her hair, down her face, plopping down onto her shoulders and chest. With each bean that hit, Cara could hear the faint plop-plop and the soft slosh of the sauce sliding along the latex before oozing down the front of the dress. As with the porridge, she watched as the front of the dress swelled to accept the invading beans. Slowly, they forced further down, rogue beans sneaking into the edges of her panties. Every glistening bean seemed to roll across her skin, adding weight and texture, pressing into intimate places in a way that made her gasp involuntarily. She breathed a sigh of relief as the torrent of beans changed direction as her cleavage filled, sending the remaining beans down the front of the dress to pool with everything else now collecting between her legs at the opening of the dress. Stray beans bounced down the dress, sliding down her legs into the spaghetti.

She looked down at the savoury mess she'd become, as the final bucket was carefully raised from the table. The helpers each took one side of the bucket and carefully carried it forward. The thick, brown gravy was raised with care. Cara braced herself. Where were they pouring this one, she thought, as they positioned themselves facing her with their backs to the audience. The realisation hit her moments before the contents of the bucket splashed forward, hitting her dress and spreading in all directions. The smooth, warm liquid slid over the porridge and beans already caking her, dripping slowly down to mingle with the spaghetti. The force of the gravy hitting her momentarily took her breath away as she turned her head to avoid the direct force. She groaned as the mixture dribbled down her, adding gravy to the already strong smell of beans, porridge, and spaghetti. Her fingers twitched, brushing against the slimy textures coating the chair arms.

Ok, ok, she thought. That's all of the items, I've completed the challenge ermm, but how do I finish this? Desperate, she tried to push herself upright, but the straps held her fast. Her mind raced. She considered calling out, but would her words change again? She paused for a moment before her eyes caught sight of the large TV sign hanging above the audience.

"Of course!" she exclaimed, and taking a deep breath, exclaimed, "I'm a messalebrity! Get me out of here!" Darkness crept over her vision as she breathed slowly and deeply, letting her pulse and heart rate calm.

When she opened her eyes, the familiar kitchen greeted her. Jenny sat at the other end of the table, one hand firmly in her underwear, panting and grinding in the chair. Cara smiled to herself--someone was clearly enjoying her experience. As she expected, Jenny remained completely clean, yet still encased in her own messy fantasy. Cara grabbed another bottle, settling down to wait for Jenny to finish, a tiny shiver running through her at the lingering sensory memory of the gunging.

Chapter 5
Cara eventually realised the panting had stopped and looked over. Jenny was slumped in the chair but had regained control -- and was grinning at her as usual.

"Have fun?" Cara asked, standing and approaching her.

"Fuck yeah," Jenny said, still catching her breath.

"Ummm" Cara raised an eyebrow. "You could have warned me you're into bondage humiliation."

Jenny blinked, confused.

"Why? What did you get?"

"Tied to a chair and gunged with beans, spaghetti, porridge and gravy -- on a charity TV show," Cara replied, annoyed.

"Weird," Jenny said. "Mine yesterday was tied up -- yeah -- and savoury gunged but on the kitchen chair. Nothing like a TV studio. Maybe it glitched? Or maybe you secretly have an exhibitionist streak," she said, winking.

Cara shook her head and involuntarily shuddered, retaking her seat.

They carefully reviewed the video footage; as expected, it showed both women just sitting in the kitchen chairs, totally clean, wriggling and writhing through their scenarios.

As the video ended, Jenny looked up at Cara.

"We've got to find out what all this is," she said. "There's an address for the company. I say we go down there tomorrow and find out what they're doing to us -- and why."

Cara considered it. On one hand, she wanted answers. On the other, she wasn't eager to barge in on people who could clearly manipulate their senses.

"They contacted us," she said, pointing at the boxes. "They haven't hurt us. So why don't we call tomorrow instead of charging down there? See if they'll meet us. Worst case, they say no -- and we either bin everything, or keep the outfits and burn the cards," she said with a laugh.

Jenny mulled over her desire to storm in guns blazing, but finally nodded.

"Okay. We'll call."

Cara slumped into the comfiest chair she owned as the clock chimed its now-familiar 9 p.m.

"Busy day tomorrow," she joked. "You crashing here tonight?"

Jenny stretched, arching her back.

"Yeah, if that's okay. Think I need to peel myself out of this dress," she added with a grin.

Cara nodded with a laugh. "Okay -- but before you do" She lifted her glass, and Jenny picked up hers.

"To tomorrow."

"To tomorrow," Jenny echoed.

To be continued