The world was a velvet blackness, a blindfold wrapped around my long brown hair, punctuated only by the low, insistent thrum against my clit. I was naked, standing, the cool air raising goosebumps on my skin. My hands were chained behind me, leaving me completely exposed my 36D tits hanging unprotected my curves on full display. A shiver of anticipation, laced with a healthy dose of nerves, ran through me. I had no idea what Michael was planning, but the vibrator buzzing against my most sensitive spot promised it would be good. I heard the soft crinkle of plastic, and then I felt him working something over my feet, up my legs. It was loose, cool, and rustled with every movement he made. A clear plastic jumpsuit. He zipped it up my front, the sound a sharp, exciting tear in the quiet room. The elastic at the waist, ankles, and wrists cinched it closed, but the rest of it puffed out around my body, creating a space between the plastic and my skin.

"Almost ready, my love," Michael's voice was a low, playful murmur.

He released my hands just long enough to pull the suit over my shoulders and zip it up to my neck, then chained them again, this time to the sides of a sturdy frame above my head. The blindfold was finally pulled away. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the light. And then I gasped.

Before me was a feast of mess. A table laden with at least four magnificent pies, their graham cracker crusts overflowing with dark pudding and mountains of fluffy Cool Whip. Next to them were two large tubs of thick, white frosting, and several jugs of what looked like thick, colorful syrups and sauces. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, excited drum. This was it. Another one of his wonderfully messy games. The last time we played was an impromptu session at a hotel where we could only gather a few coolwhip pies. My favorite point of that session was when he used two of them at the same time on my exposed breasts, completely covering them in cold cream, but it still left me longing to be properly destroyed.

"Like what you see?" Michael grinned, his eyes dancing with mischief. "I thought we'd play with your favorite things today."

I could only nod, my throat suddenly dry. I was nervous, a jangling energy under my skin, but I was also incredibly horny, the vibrator a constant, teasing presence.

He stepped forward and unzipped the jumpsuit from the neck down to my navel. The cool air rushed in, making my nipples harden instantly. He dipped his fingers into one of the tubs of frosting, scooping out a huge dollop. "Let's start with these beauties," he said, his voice dropping. He smeared the cold, sweet frosting all over my large tits, the thick cream a shocking, delicious sensation. It was heavy and clung to me, and I arched my back, pushing into his touch. He coated them completely until they were white, heavy mounds.

Next, he picked up a jug of thick, dark chocolate fudge sauce. "Time to get you properly messy, Beth." He poured it directly over my head. The cold, viscous liquid streamed down my hair, over my face, and dripped onto my shoulders inside the suit. It smelled overwhelmingly of chocolate and felt like a slow, sweet helmet being poured over me. Then he grabbed a can of cherry pie filling. The sweet, syrupy slime, thick with chunks of fruit, was next. He poured it over my breasts, the red goo contrasting beautifully with the white frosting. The cold, slippery texture against my warm skin made me whimper.

He then knelt and attached a spacer bar to my ankles, forcing my legs wide apart. He took a roll of duct tape and, working on the outside of the plastic suit, wrapped it tightly around my thighs, just above my knees. The tape was so tight it compressed the plastic, creating a seal. "Don't want any of our fun to escape," he chuckled. He then took one of the Cool Whip pies and carefully placed it inside the jumpsuit, right at my crotch, the cold of the plate a shocking tease against my inner thighs. It wasn't touching me yet, just waiting.

My breath hitched. This was it. The anticipation was agony.

He picked up another jug, this one filled with thick, creamy butterscotch pudding. He poured it over my head, and it slithered down my neck and chest, mixing with the fudge and frosting. It was so thick, it felt like a slime massage. As the last of it dripped down, I felt a click. The vibrator hummed to life, a low, powerful pulse that sent a jolt straight through me. I cried out, my hips bucking.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Michael's voice was thick with satisfaction. He picked up two of the pies from the table. "Remember this?"

I did. I remembered it vividly. He stepped forward and, with a wicked grin, slammed one pie into each of my tits at the same time. SPLAT! The impact was a shock of cold and pressure, the pudding and Cool Whip exploding against my skin. The graham cracker crust crumbled. He didn't stop there. He dropped the tins and began massaging the mess into my breasts, his hands smearing the pudding, cream, and crust all over me. The texture was incredible--the slick cream, the thick pudding, the gritty cracker crumbs all mixing together. The vibrator was still buzzing, and the combination of the intense mess on my tits and the vibration on my clit was pushing me to the edge.

"Michael oh god, Michael" I moaned, my head falling back.

He increased the intensity of the vibrator. It was a relentless, deep thrum, and I felt my orgasm coiling in my belly, hot and tight. I was right there, teetering on the brink. And then, he did it. He reached down and slammed the pie waiting in my crotch right against my pussy. The cold, wet mess pressed against my clit and labia, and he ground it in with his hand. That was it. The explosion of sensation sent me over the edge. I screamed as a powerful orgasm ripped through me. At the exact same moment, he grabbed the last pie from the table and smashed it right into my face. The world became a blur of cream and pudding as I came, the mess on my face a sweet, suffocating blanket that only intensified the pleasure.

I was panting, slumped in my chains, my body trembling in the aftermath. I could feel the pudding from the pie on my face dripping down my neck, joining the river of mess inside my suit.

But Michael wasn't done. He motioned upwards with his head. I looked up, my vision blurry through the coating of cream. Above me, suspended from the ceiling, was a huge bucket filled with a vibrant green liquid. Cake batter. Michael unzipped my jumpsuit the rest of the way down to my navel and held the plastic open, creating a bowl. With a sharp tug, he pulled the plug from the bottom of the bucket.

A thick, cold torrent of green cake batter sluiced down onto me. It poured over my head, my shoulders, my chest, cascading down into the jumpsuit. It felt amazing--cool, silky, and heavy. It quickly began to pool at the bottom of the suit, around my ankles, rising steadily. I was being filled.

He let the bucket empty, then wheeled over another one, this filled with a bright yellow custard. He poured that over my head too, some cascading down into the back of my suit sending a chill down my spine. The mixture of green and yellow swirled around my legs, a sweet, warm soup. Then he grabbed a 64 oz can of rice pudding. He popped the top and poured the thick, lumpy, sweet porridge over my head. The little grains of rice were a new, interesting texture as they rolled down my skin. He followed it with a can of thick, lumpy apple pie filling, the cinnamon-spiced goo adding a delicious scent to the mix. My suit, which was getting heavy, sagging with the sheer volume of the mess, was then zipped back up to ensure none of it would escape.

He grabbed four more Cool Whip pies. "Ready for round two?" he teased. He smashed two of them simultaneously against the sides of my head, covering my ears and hair in a fresh wave of cream. Then he took the other two and, stuffed them into the neckline at the back of my suit, causing the front to press the delicious swirl of mess into my hard nipples. He smeared them all the way down till they covered my ass and the back of my thighs, the plastic suit making a squelching sound as he worked.

The vibrator was still buzzing, a low, steady thrum that was keeping me at a low simmer. He lowered my zipper to my cleavage, picked up another can, this one filled with chocolate pudding, and poured it slowly over my tits, watching it drip down my stomach. He then grabbed two more pies and smashed them one after the other onto my cleavage, the impact making a satisfying splat sound. I gasped as he pushed them into my suit against my tits, stimulated near to the point of paint.

He was playing with me, building me back up. He'd pour something thick and sweet over my head, then smear a pie on my tits, then pour another can down my back. The actions were varied, a constant assault on my senses. A can of thick, sweet strawberry puree was poured over my face, its seeds a tiny, tickling sensation. Four more pies were smashed against my legs, the mess splattering up inside the already-full suit. Two more buckets of batter--one vanilla, one strawberry--were poured in, raising the level of the slime inside the suit up from knee past my waist. My pussy was completely submerged in sweet, sticky mess.

The vibrator's intensity increased again. I was so close. The feeling of being utterly coated, filled, and surrounded by the sweet slime was intoxicating. Michael grabbed two more pies. He held one against my clit, pressing it through the plastic, and with his other hand, he smashed the last one directly onto my ass. The dual stimulation, the pressure, the cold, the mess, it was too much. I came again, a long, shuddering orgasm that seemed to pull from somewhere deep inside me.

"OH GOD--Michael--" I screamed, my voice echoing through the room. My entire body convulsed against the restraints, my back arching as far as the chains would allow. The mess inside my suit churned wildly with my movements, the thick mixture of batters, puddings, and pie fillings sloshing against my skin like a sweet, heavy wave. My pussy clenched rhythmically, nothing inside me but the intense, pulsing vibration against my clit and the cold, sticky mess pressed into my flesh.

My thighs trembled violently, straining against the duct tape seal. My hands pulled uselessly at the chains, my fingers curling into fists as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me. The orgasm seemed to go on forever, each pulse sending sparks behind my eyelids, my breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps.

"Please--please--" I whimpered, though I didn't know if I was begging for more or for mercy. The intensity was overwhelming, my senses completely consumed by the sticky sweetness coating every inch of me and the relentless pleasure vibrating through my core.

Michael held the pie firmly against my pussy throughout my orgasm, grinding it into me, the mess trapped inside mixing with my own wetness. The cold was a shocking contrast to the heat radiating from my core, and it somehow made everything more intense.

"That's it, Beth," he growled, his voice thick with arousal. "Come for me. Let it all go."

I did. The final wave hit me hard, my whole body jerking, a guttural moan tearing from my throat. The world went white for a moment, my mind completely blank except for pure, overwhelming sensation.

When I finally came down, I was panting heavily, my body limp in the chains, my heart pounding against my ribs. The mess inside my suit had settled into a heavy, warm layer around my lower body, and I could feel little rivulets of slime dripping down my skin. The vibrator was still buzzing at a low, teasing hum, keeping me in a state of arousal even as I recovered.

Michael stepped back, admiring his work. "Beautiful," he murmured. "But we're far from done."

My body was still trembling from the force of my orgasm, the cream from the pie on my face mingling with the green and yellow slime that filled my suit. But Michael was far from finished. The vibrator, still buzzing at a steady, maddening pace, was a constant reminder that more pleasure was on the horizon.

He picked up a 64 oz can of thick, lumpy rice pudding. He popped the top and tilted it, pouring the cold, sweet porridge directly over my head. The sensation was strange and wonderful; the thick, creamy liquid coated my hair and face, while the soft, swollen grains of rice rolled down my neck and shoulders, a gentle, ticklish massage against my skin. It pooled in the collar of the jumpsuit, a heavy, starchy weight.

Next, he grabbed a 64 oz can of cherry pie filling. He upended it into the suit over my chest. The thick, syrupy red goo, heavy with dark, soft cherry chunks, sluiced over my tits. It was colder than the pudding, and the contrast made my nipples ache more. The sticky sweetness clung to every curve, a thick, viscous blanket, the cherries each adding their own sensation.

Then, he took one of the remaining Cool Whip pies. He didn't smash it. Instead, he held the tin to my lips. "Open up," he commanded softly. I obeyed, and he smeared a large dollop of the cold, fluffy cream and pudding into my mouth. The taste was pure sugar, and I moaned around the sweet mouthful. He then took the rest of the pie and smeared it slowly, deliberately, all over my neck and shoulders, the texture light and airy compared to the heavy fillings.

He grabbed a second can, this one filled with a thick, dark chocolate fudge sauce. He poured it in a slow, steady stream over my head. It was like being baptized in liquid chocolate. The fudge was thick and warm, a stark contrast to the other substances, and it felt like a rich, heavy helmet being poured over me, slowly oozing down to join the pool in my suit, at this point coming up to my breasts.

The vibrator's intensity suddenly ratcheted up a notch. I gasped, my hips jerking against the chains. Michael watched me, a smirk on his lips, and then picked up two more pies. He held them up for me to see. "Ready, Beth?" I could only nod, my breath coming in ragged pants.

He slammed them both into my tits at the same time. SPLAT! SPLAT! The impact was a shock of cold and pressure, sending a fresh wave of pudding and cream exploding against my skin. He dropped the tins and immediately began massaging the mess in, his palms grinding the graham cracker crust and slick cream into my flesh. The combined sensations--the deep vibration on my clit, the heavy mess inside my suit, and the rough massage on my tits--sent me spiraling. I was right on the edge again.

He grabbed a 64 oz can of thick, sweet strawberry puree. He poured it over my head, the seedy, red liquid a sharp, tangy contrast to the chocolate. It felt thinner, and the tiny seeds were a strange, gritty sensation as they trickled down my face and body into the suit completely filling it. That was the final push. The vibrator hummed at its highest setting, and I shattered. A powerful orgasm ripped through me, and as I cried out, Michael grabbed the last two pies and smashed them hard, one on each side of my head. The world went white with cream and pudding as the pleasure peaked, a muffled, explosive finale to the round.

I slumped in my restraints, spent and panting, my entire world a sweet, sticky, suffocating mess. I thought it was over. I was wrong.

Michael began the process of undoing my restraints. He unchained my wrists, then the spacer bar from my ankles. He carefully peeled the duct tape from my thighs, the sound a loud, final rip in the quiet room. The plastic jumpsuit, heavy and sloshing, was peeled away from my body and dropped to the floor with a wet smack. He took a soft, wet cloth and cleaned my face, allowing me to see and breathe freely for the first time since it began. Then, he turned me around and pulled my arms behind my back, re-binding my wrists with a pair of handcuffs.

"Huh..."was all I could manage through my foggy mind. I thought this was over, and we were done. My body exhausted, my mind tired, but somewhere deep down in me, I wanted more. I wanted to be so thoroughly pleasured and destroyed that I'd need to spend the rest of the day in bed.

He wheeled a cart into the center of the room. On it was a waist-high, circular wading pool, about four feet in diameter. And inside the pool was the biggest pie I had ever seen. It was a monster, a mountain of Cool Whip on top of, chocolate pudding, custard, mousse, at least two fruit pie fillings and graham cracker crust, a multi-layered masterpiece of mess.

My eyes went wide. "Michael what?"

He just grinned and bent me over the edge of the cart, my ass exposed, my face hovering just over the giant pie. My eyes slammed shut braced for an impact that never came. He positioned himself behind me, and I felt the hard, hot length of him press against my entrance. He didn't put me in the pie. He just teased me with the proximity, with the scent of sugar and cream.

"You've been such a good, messy girl," he growled, his voice a low rumble. "Time for your reward."

He thrust into me, hard and deep. I cried out, the sudden fullness a shock, but the layers of mess still present provided ample lubrication. He fucked me with a relentless, powerful rhythm, his hips slapping against my messy, sticky skin. The pleasure was intense, building fast, a white-hot fire in my core. I could feel his own release building, his movements becoming more erratic.

"Look at the mess, Beth," he panted. "Look at all that, waiting for you."

I stared into the pie, at the swirls of chocolate and vanilla, the fluffy peaks of cream. The combination of his cock pounding into me and the sight of the decadent mess before me was overwhelming. I felt him tense, his grip on my hips tightening. This was enough to send me right to the edge, my own pussy tightened around his cock as I felt the orgasm building.

"Now!" he grunted.

As his own orgasm hit, flooding me with his heat, he grabbed my shoulders and slammed me forward, face-first, into the giant pie. The impact was total. My world was instantly obliterated by a universe of cold, sweet, thick cream. The shock of it, combined with the force of his climax still pulsing inside me, triggered an orgasm so powerful it stole my breath. It was a full-body seizure of pleasure, more intense than anything I had ever felt before. I screamed into the pie, the sound muffled by pudding and cream, my world knowing only the sweetness that covered the entire half of me, my body convulsing as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over me, leaving me a limp, shivering, and utterly satisfied mess.

Michael's hands gripped my shoulders and pulled me backward, extracting me from the mountain of cream and pudding. I gasped for air, my lungs filling with the sweet, heavy scent of sugar and chocolate. My face was completely buried in the stuff--I could feel it in my nose, in my ears, caked in my hair. He turned me around and gently wiped the mess from my eyes with his thumb, clearing my vision.

I blinked up at him, dazed and trembling from the intensity of my orgasm. My whole body felt like Jell-O, weak and warm and buzzing with endorphins.

"God, you're beautiful," Michael murmured, his voice soft now, almost reverent. He traced a finger along my cheek, smearing the cream. "So fucking sexy when you come like that. You're absolutely covered in pie and you've never looked more gorgeous."

I felt a flush of warmth at his words, a different kind of heat blooming in my chest. Even after everything--after being turned into a human dessert--his genuine admiration made me feel desired and adored.

"Ready for a shower?" he asked, a small smile playing on his lips. "I think you've earned it."

I tested my wrists behind my back, the cuffs still holding firm. A mischievous impulse surged through me, overriding my exhaustion. I looked up at him through the cream still clinging to my lashes and grinned.

"What, already?" I taunted, my voice raspy. "I thought we were just getting started. Don't tell me you're tapping out on me."

Michael's eyebrows shot up, and then he laughed--a deep, genuine laugh that filled the room. "Oh, Beth. You never learn, do you?" His eyes darkened with that familiar hunger. "I was going to let you have the first shower, but now you're going to pay for that comment."

My stomach flipped. What was he planning?

He helped me down, guiding me to my knees on the floor. My legs were shaky, barely able to support me, so I sank gratefully onto the cool concrete. I sat on my ankles, my wrists still bound, my upper body straight up, slightly arching my back to push out my tits inviting Michael to do his worst. The mess on my body shifted and slid--the dried patches of frosting and pudding cracking, the wetter parts still dripping. I felt disgusting and sexy all at once.

Michael walked over to the wading pool. The giant pie--what remained of it--was still sitting there, a devastated landscape of cream, pudding, and graham cracker crumbs. It was still massive, probably forty pounds of sweet mess.

"Michael... what are you--" I started, a nervous tremor in my voice, that was far too much mess.

He grabbed the edge of the pool and lifted it, some pudding sliding from the massive pie out onto the floor. It landed with a wet thwack, the whole still mostly intact--a four-foot diameter disk of creamy destruction. He lifted it, his arms straining slightly under the weight.

My eyes went wide. "Wait--no--Michael, I was just--"

"Too late for bargaining," he grinned. He stepped toward me, holding the massive pie like a shield. "You wanted more? Here's more."

I squeezed my eyes shut, my heart hammering. The anticipation was excruciating. I felt so vulnerable on my knees, my hands bound behind me, unable to protect myself or even brace for impact. My nipples hardened despite--or maybe because of--my nervousness.

Oh god, oh god, oh god--

SPLAAAAAT!

The pie hit me like a wall of cold, wet sweetness. It was enormous--covering my entire head, my shoulders, my chest, cascading down my body in a heavy, suffocating blanket. The sheer weight of it pushed me backward, and I would have fallen completely if I hadn't already been awkwardly on my knees. The cream was everywhere--in my mouth, up my nose, packed into my ears, matted in my hair. The pudding oozed down my breasts and stomach, thick and cold.

But as I knelt there, buried in the mess, something unexpected happened. The helplessness, the total submission of it, the feeling of being utterly coated and dominated by this sweet, heavy blanket--it sparked something deep inside me. My pussy, still sensitive from my previous orgasms, throbbed with renewed interest. The nervousness morphed into arousal, building low in my belly.

Oh fuck, I thought, disgusted with myself and incredibly turned on at the same time. I'm getting wet from being turned into a pie.

I shook my head violently, trying to clear my face, but I still couldn't open my eyes. I glared in the direction of Michael, ready to deliver a properly scathing retort--but then I heard it.

Clank. Clatter.

Keys. Hitting the floor somewhere near the dungeon's heavy door.

I listened in confusion as Michael walked toward the exit, not even looking back.

"Michael? What--"

"Good luck unlocking yourself," he called over his shoulder, his voice playful. "The keys are somewhere over there. Maybe you'll find them. Eventually."

The door swung shut behind him, and I heard the lock click from the outside.

"You BASTARD!" I screamed, but I was laughing too. Laughter and frustration bubbled up together, mixing with the arousal still simmering in my core.

I was alone. Tied. Covered head to toe in pie filling. And somewhere across the room, a set of keys waited for me.

"Un-fucking-believable," I muttered to myself. I shifted onto my hands and knees, the mess on my body squelching and dripping with every movement. The cream and pudding made the floor slippery, and I nearly slid face-first into the puddle of pie remains.

I started crawling toward where I'd heard the keys drop, my bound hands making the going slow and awkward. My knees slid through the mess, my tits dragged through puddles of cream, and my hair--matted with pie--hung in heavy, sticky ropes around my face.

But as I crawled, as I felt the mess shifting against my skin, as the helplessness of my situation settled over me, I felt a familiar heat building between my legs. My nipples were hard, my pussy was aching, and despite everything--or because of everything--I was hornier than ever.

"Michael," I growled to the empty room, "when I get my hands on you..."

But even as I said it, I was smiling.

I inched slowly across the room until I saw it--something metallic glinting near the base of the door about ten feet away.

I crawled toward it, my body leaving a trail in the mess. My thighs burned from the effort, my shoulders ached from the awkward angle of my bound arms, but I pushed forward. The glint grew brighter.

"Keys. Please let that be the keys."

I twisted my body, trying to get my fingers close enough to grab them. My cheek pressed into the floor, squishing through a puddle of pudding. My tits hung down, dripping cream. I stretched my fingers as far as they would go--

Click.

I felt the keyring against my fingertip. I hooked my finger through it and pulled, dragging the keys toward me with a triumphant sound that was half-laugh, half-moan.

"Got you, you little bastard," I breathed.

I lay there for a moment, face-down in the mess, the keys clutched in my bound hands. I should have been working on freeing myself immediately, but instead, I stayed still, letting the situation wash over me.

My entire body was coated. My hair was matted with pie filling. My face was covered. My tits, my stomach, my legs, my ass--every inch of me was sticky and sweet. I could smell the sugar and chocolate and vanilla all around me, feel it drying in patches on my skin while other parts remained wet and dripping.

And beneath all of it, my pussy still ached with desire, equally coated in layers of sweet mess.

"Michael, you absolute menace," I thought, but there was no real anger behind it. Just exhaustion, and affection, and a lingering heat that wouldn't quite fade.

I rolled onto my side and awkwardly maneuvered the keys toward my wrists, fumbling to find the lock by touch alone. It took three tries--my cream-slicked fingers kept slipping--but finally, I felt the lock click open.

The cuffs fell away from my wrists.

I brought my arms in front of me, groaning at the relief in my shoulders. I wiped my face with the back of my hand, clearing a small patch around my eyes, and slowly pushed myself up to my knees.

I was alone. Free. Covered in pie.

And already thinking about next time.