PART 2

A hush came over the crowd as Ivanna and I stepped up to that first table and each picked up one of those huge chocolate pudding pies. And they were enormous. Each of the deep-dish crusts were packed with a full three inches of rich, creamy, chocolate pudding. There was no whipped cream on top of these puddings, so they were guaranteed to leave a big chocolate mess on whatever target was unfortunate enough to get in the path of these mucky missiles of mess. Ha!

"Well, Vonni," I said, looking at the most beautiful woman in the entire world, "I guess it's time."

"Ya think, Bobby," my bride said with a twinkle in her eye. Ivanna was wearing a Claire Pettibone old-world glamour-inspired design. With it's ethereal look and plenty of French lace, my bride was absolutely stunning.

Wow! What a shame it will be to destroy that dress.

"Well, if we don't do something soon, I think you may be right. They just might lynch us."

"A laugh gushed out of Vonni's mouth before she could hold it in. "Yeah, we wouldn't want to disappoint our legions of followers, would we, darling."

"Well," I said, "do you want to go first?"

"Nah, why spoil a good thing," the woman I loved more than life itself, said. "You go ahead. You've always gone first. But," Vonni stopped for just a second before continuing, "I'll have the Final say. Ha!" And with that, Ivanna stuck out her tongue.

And she did it just in time to take the first pie right in the kisser.

SPLATTTTT!

And I let her have it but good. Ha!

I let out a rip-roaring laugh as I looked at the mess Ivanna's face had become. But not for long, as she swiped just enough of that chocolate muck out of her eyes to see, and then she let me have her pie right in the face.

Now, as we stood there, Vonni in her beautiful gown and I in my tux, both of our faces covered in chocolate goo, a chant started to come from our crowd of faithful onlookers. "Do It!"

Over and over, softly at first, but then louder with each stanza. "Do It!" "Do it!" DO IT!"

So, we DID IT!

I grabbed a pair of those big gooey chocolate pudding pies and gave my beloved a sloppy pie sandwich, while Ivanna slapped a bright shiny yellow custard pie over the top of my head before slamming a strawberry pudding pie into my chocolate-covered face.

Not to be outdone, however, I let her have four more of those chocolate pudding pies, one after the other, just as fast as I could hurl them her way. And each one struck dead center in the middle of Vonni's face. By this time, Ivanna's head was a mass of chocolate-covered pudding.

My wife of one hour and forty-six minutes finished off that first table by slamming a chocolate pudding pie into my face and then following up with one to my crotch.

Shit. I thought we agreed . . . none of that, oh well, if that's the way you want it . . ."

I quickly darted over to that second row of tables and grabbed one of those huge bowls of chocolate pudding.

"Noooooooo," my beloved said just before that mass of chocolate pudding cascaded onto her face.

"How was that baby?" I said looking at the mess that Ivanna had become.

If you thought my Vonni was a mess from the pies I had thrown at her, that was nothing compared to what that chocolate pudding did. She had looked up just as I started the pour, so Ivanna took the full mess straight in her face. From there, it rolled down like a tidal wave, until the brown blob came to a brief rest on her more than ample breasts. Despite their size, however, Vonni's boobs were only a minor roadblock before the rest of that muck overflowed and dropped onto her Dolce & Gabbana Heels. The white-colored pumps in Taormina lace with crystals, which had retailed at about $950.00, were now chocolate-covered.

Well, so much for MY new heels. They're ruined.

"So, you like pudding, do ya?" Ivanna said with a snarl, "let's see how you like it."

I knew I was in for it when Ivanna picked up one of those bowls of chocolate pudding and turned toward me. Balancing the bowl against one of her muck-covered boobs, Ivanna reached over with one hand and perhaps not-so-gently tilted my head so that my face could receive the brunt of the chocolate onslaught that she unleashed. It took about ten seconds for her to empty the bowl, and Vonni even scooped out the last handful to make sure I was as mucky as she was.

"Ha. How is it you say it, Bobby. How do you like them apples?"

"Uh . . . good. It was . . . um . . . good. But I think you have your fruits mixed up, baby," I said as I picked up one of the banana cream pies followed by a chocolate pudding one. "How do you like . . . chocolate covered bananas, sweetheart?"

"What? But . . . but, I . . . I . . . don't you . . . dare . . ."

And then I plastered her face with that banana cream pie. As I watched the whitish-yellow goo slather up over the brown muck leftover from before, I slammed the chocolate one on top of the new mess for good measure.

"How's that, baby?"

"FINE!"

Now anytime a woman says, "fine" like that, you know everything is not fine, and there are going to be repercussions. Mine came in the form of a pair of lemon pudding pies, one on top of my head, followed swiftly by one to my face.

"How do you like MY choice of fruits, baby?"

"Not bad," I replied. Not bad at all . . . not too bad, baby. But lets see what you think of my latest choices."

And then I gave Vonni, dear sweet Vonni, a pie sandwich, or rather a 'boob' sandwich when I crushed the pair of Butterscotch pies over her breasts; one for each boob, and the lighter brown color made for a very nice contrast to the darker chocolate on the rest of her body.

Looking down on the new mess I had bestowed open her upper torso, Ivanna stepped over to the table with the pitchers of custard.

Oh shit. She's already bringing out the custard.

Now as a wicked grin crossed her mucky features, Ivanna reached out and grabbed the front of my trousers.

Fuck. Not again.

"You promised!"

My statement stopped Vanni for a few seconds.

"Yeah, well I changed my mind," and then she added, "woman's prerogative."

And then she started the pour.

If you've never had cold custard poured over your private parts, let me tell you, it's no fun. And the little bitch poured not one, not two, but three of those half-gallon pitchers of that grimy muck all over my balls. She used one of each type, the regular, or yellow custard, the strawberry and finally the chocolate.

"So, you want to play dirty, huh!"

As I looked into Ivana's eyes, flush with victory, I saw a little worry start to creep into them. Like maybe she realized she had stepped over the line.

"Well, two can play that way," I said, as I picked up a bowl of banana cream pudding. "Let's see how you like it."

As I stood there, holding that bowl high, Vonni, with a sick look on her face, said, "uh Bobby, you really don't want to do that to me, do you?"

I thought for a second, then nodded my head, said "uh huh," and then dumped that yellowish goop on top of her head. As that pudding made its way south from Vonni's head to the floor, streaks of yellow glob started mixing in with the brown muck from before. Pretty soon, Ivana looked like a brown and yellow striped woman with muck coming out of every pore on her body.

As my baby turned toward the audience, a look of shock crossing her muck-covered face, I said, "Not so fast, my sweetheart," with the biggest sneer I could muster. I added, "Let's see how you really like it." And then I picked up another of those grand bowls of pudding, this time with the reddish tint of strawberries.

Oh Fuck! I probably should have stuck with just one pitcher of custard.

This time, the big splat, from the strawberry pudding left a huge pinkish sway among all the various gunges that were rapidly covering Ivanna's body.

"But not so fast, darling," I said as Vonni, sweet little Vonni started trying to back away, a look of horror clouding her judgement.

"I just wouldn't want to let you go without a little of my signature calling card."

Well, Shit! Yeah, I should have stuck with just one pitcher.

This time, Ivanna stood there, a look of resolute, plastered on her face. Perhaps she knew that she deserved this. Or maybe, she just knew resistance was futile to "quote a scene from an old sci-fi show. Whatever, the case, this time, Ivanna just stood there, looked up, and took the entire five gallons of chocolate pudding directly in the face.

When I was finished with the last pour, I stood back and took a longingly gaze upon the masterpiece I had created. Some artists work in crayons and pencils. Some use ink. Still others use paint. As for me, though . . .

I do some of my best work with pudding. Ha!

Now, as Vonni stood there, shivering from the cold of so much pudding running down her body, she turned toward me with a withering look.

"That's . . . that's . . . that was so uncalled for, Bobby. Now, it's MY turn."

Now, my Vonni, no longer looking sweet and kind, picked up two pitchers of the chocolate custard.

"I know how much you like chocolate sweetheart," she whispered in my right ear just before pouring that chocolate goo all over my head. And she took her sweet-ass time, to prolong the agony.

But my sweetheart wasn't done. I saw a wicked look cross her gunge-coated face. This time she picked up a pitcher of the strawberry-flavored custard.

Then, Vonni stepped in close to me, reached out with a muck-covered hand and yanked open the top of my shirt with such force that she ripped off the top two buttons.

Shit . . . oh well, I wasn't planning on keeping that shirt anyway.

This time, the deluge of cold, pink-tinted grunge flowed down the inside of my shirt to where it pooled at the belt line. With my tightened belt, there was no place for that slime to go.

"Not so fast dear," Vonni said, copying my earlier phrase, though I wasn't trying to get away, as my beloved bride said when she picked up a final pair of pitchers, this time of the yellow-colored, or original custard.

"Don't want your little fellas to feel left out," she said with an evil laugh as Vonni reached out and yanked open my pants.

And with that opening, as a release valve opened, all the built-up custard quickly ran down my legs, covering my balls, once again, before dropping down the legs of my pants and onto my $1,200 cowboy boots.

Fuck, I thought to myself as I gritted my teeth against the cold onslaught against my most private parts.

"Oh baby, how was it you so elegantly put it, 'Bombs away!'"

And then she poured, first one pitcher, then the second pitcher of that yellow slime down my pants.

As I stood there, drenched in goo of multiple colors, shivering violently from the freezing assault upon my manhood, I saw red.


Despite the cold, everyone could tell that I was having a physical reaction down there, if you know what I mean. Ha!

Why that little heifer . . . she's doing it again . . . and after she promised. Well . . . I won't let her get away with it this time.

"Let's see how you like it, baby," I said as I reached for one of those pitchers of chocolate custard with one hand and the bodice of her dress with the other. Looking at Ivanna, it was like looking at a finely chiseled statue, only made of liquid chocolate. Every muscle, every sinew stood in relief, outlined by the mucky mess. Her breasts jutted out, nipples so hard. And this time, Vonni was not wearing a bra.

That dress, or should I say gown, so beautiful just a short time ago, was trashed beyond belief. Saturated with muck of all kinds, Ivanna's dress which she spent ever spare penny she cold save for six months, clung to her body like a second layer of skin. And if my bulging crotch made a titillating sight for the women in the audience, then the muck-covered wedding gown which Ivanna wore, provided a sight for all the horny males gazing upon her.

Well, let's see how they like it when I get done with you, Vonni.

I yanked, hard, at the top of Vonni's dress, stretching it almost to the tearing point. Looking down I got one great view of Vonni's adorable boobs and even her bush since the barely-covering white panties my bride had chosen for this day, had become transparent under the spotlight that for some strange reason focused straight down Vonni's dress.

OH Wow! If I didn't already have a hard on before, I would now.

Both her boobs and private parts had a liberal coating of brown muck on them from seep-through. But it was about to be worse, much worse.

Oh Shit. What have I done? Please don't do this, Bobby.

"Bobby, please don't."

"Why?" I replied. "You did it."

Oh, she squirmed as that cold elixir of chocolate muck slammed down onto her boobs. As Vonni twisted, turned, and squirmed, I kept up the pour. Ivanna cried out. She pleaded for me to stop. Vonni begged for an end to the humiliating pour.

But I would not stop. When that first pitcher went dry, I picked up another, then another. She poured ten liters of custard over me. So, I returned the favor. First the chocolate custard, then a pitcher of strawberry custard, followed by one of the regular, or yellow-colored, variety. By the time I finished my pour, Vonni was quivering like an aspen leaf in the autumn wind. I almost felt sorry for Vonni as I saw how violently she was shivering. Almost.

Fuck . . . fuck . . . oh fuck. You son-of-a . . . oh . . .SHIT!

"You just . . . you just . . . wait till."

With her lips quivering from the cold, my Vonni had this look of pure rage on her face.

"You fucking . . . fucking bas . . ."

Vonni caught herself just in time.

"I'm going to . . ."

"No, I have something else for you baby," I grinned as I hefted that large bowl of coconut cream pudding. "Why don't you try this?"

And then, I poured that mess over the top of Ivanna's head.

"You think that's funny you redneck hick," Ivanna screamed as that off-white muck flowed down into her eyes.

"Well, here, have some of this," my sweetheart said as she poured the bowl of vanilla pudding over my head. "I hope you choke on it."

And then before I could reply, Ivanna grabbed two pitchers of custard and poured that yellow goo over my head, to add to my misery.

As that yellow slime rolled down my face, I grabbed a bowl of chocolate pudding. She picked up the one with Butterscotch pudding. Then we stopped. Just for a second or two, to measure up the opponent.

I now had two streams of bright yellow glop flowing down over the mucky exterior of my body, while Ivanna, sported a layer of coconut pudding over all that brown muck she had previously acquired. In the battle to see who would be the messiest, I came in a distant second place to Vonni.

And then we each moved in as one and added another layer of mess to our opponent. My chocolate delight caught Ivanna squarely in her face, while her Butterscotch muck landed on my right shoulder and part of my head.

Shit, I thought, while inwardly laughing. I can't believe we are doing this . . . I hope she's not really mad.


Now, as we stood there, our clothes completely saturated with muck of every kind and color, and ruined beyond repair, we looked at each other and then at the last two tables with pastries. There were twenty-two pies left.

"What are we waiting for," Ivanna cried out, as she reached for a coconut cream pie. My choice, of course, was a chocolate pie. And with that, we turned it on again.

As I slathered that chocolate cream pie into Ivanna's thoroughly goo-drenched face, she plopped that coconut cream one down on top of my head.

Then I gave Vonni a 'fore and aft' pie sandwich, meaning one pie to the face while the other hit her in the back of the head. And my choice for Ivanna's face left blueberry cream dripping from her face while chocolate pudding coated the already mucked up glob that had been a $180 hairstyle to start the day.

Ivanna retaliated with an old-fashioned pie sandwich with banana cream and chocolate cream pies being her choice of weaponry.

These pies just kept adding more layers of muckiness to heads and faces.

Down to the last dozen pies, Vonni chose a custard, one of her favorites, to do the messy dance on top of my scalp, while my missile of mess was the last strawberry pudding pie.

As we came up for air, Ivanna and I saw eight of those sloppy chocolate pudding pies, each bearing three inches of brown mucky mess, on the last table. And despite hurriedly throwing them at each other, our aim was right on the mark and none of those missiles of muck missed their targets. Two resounding splats finished our messy assaults on one another.

"Fuck," Ivanna said almost silently as she looked down at the mess her beautiful wedding gown had become. Then she looked up and, in horror, saw me standing there with two of those big pitchers, this time with strawberry custard. And in the next instant I just turned them over and let that slop pour out on top of her head. As bright pink goo streamed down from Ivanna's head, she managed to pick up the last pitcher of strawberry custard and basically threw its contents toward my face. I stepped aside, however, and she missed.

Picking up the last two pitchers of chocolate custard, I poured that mucky mess all over the top of Vonni's head and then down her face and over her boobs.

Shit . . . that fucking bastard . . . I am so going . . .

"Shit. You son-of-a-bitch . . .Oh no."

With my ire up, I reached for another of those chocolate pudding bowls.

"Bobby, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it . . ."

Vonni's words were cut off as another torrent of chocolate sludge slammed into her face, completely obliterating any of her facial features.

"What was that, baby?" I said with mock insincerity. I didn't catch that last part."

Oh, you're going to catch this part . . . Buddy Boy!

It took my wife, of just barely two hours, now, almost a minute to wipe enough crud out of her eyes so that she could see. From the look on her face, though, I knew I was in for it.

As I watched Ivanna pick up those two pies, the strawberry cream and the coconut cream, I knew what was coming.

"Let's see, what do we have here, baby.

SPLATTTT!

Now it was my turn to be on the receiving end of a pie sandwich as my wife really ground them in. My left side was now covered in coconut cream filling, while the right side received a big slathering of the pinkish tint from the strawberry cream pie.

"Let's see," my bride had a decidedly unhealthy, perhaps even evil, look on her pudding-covered face, "what is it you are always saying about the United States and their grand old flag. You always talk about your time in the military and how proud you were to serve it."

"What was it you always say about your flag," Ivanna said, now with a twinkle in her eyes, "the red, white, and blue, right? That is correct, right. The red," and now she pointed to the right side of my face, all covered in pinkish goo, "the white," with a finger she acknowledged the white smearing of coconut cream pie on my left side, and the blue. We wouldn't want to leave out the blue, darling . . . would we."

And with that, my bride slammed a blueberry cream pie directly into the center of my face. And let me tell you something. It hurt.

And now as the flashbulbs went off by the dozens, and as people were cheering on my wife's assault, my vision blurred as tears filled my eyes.

Shit . . . I'm pretty sure she broke my nose.

"Oh fuck. That hurts, I whispered.

With all the noise, I don't think anyone heard what I said. But I think Vonni realized she had crossed the line. I saw a look of concern on her chocolate-covered face.

Oh shit. What have I done?

Feeling woozy, I now went to my knees.

"Oh shit, baby," Ivanna cried as she rushed to my side. Looking up, I saw tears streaming down Vonni's muck-covered face. "I am so sorry, baby. I am so sorry. Please forgive me." Over and over my precious baby kept begging forgiveness.

"It's okay, baby. It's okay." I kept muttering despite the pain.

You could have heard a pin drop, as everyone present, realized something had gone wrong.

As it turns out, Mr. Harkins always had a nearby doctor on call, in case of emergency. And within just a few minutes a doctor S, and don't ask me how to pronounce his name because I can't, came in to check me out. Vonni and I both breathed a sigh of relief when the good doctor pronounced my nose was not broken, just bruised. He gave me some Tylenol 3 for the pain and then parted company.

"Mr. Roberto, Ms. Ivanna, I am so sorry. I feel responsible for this," Mr. Harkins gushed in apology. "Please accept my humble apology . . ."

"Nonsense, Mr. Harkins," I said. "It's not your fault."

"No, It's my fault, all my fault," Ivanna interrupted. Turning to me, she said, "Bobby, I am so sorry . . ."

"Hush, baby," I said as I took her muck-covered hands and kissed her chocolate-drenched lips. "There is nothing to be sorry for."

"I mean that, baby," I said as I saw Vonni, with tears streaming down her cheeks, try to apologize again. "We got a little carried away. Both of us, baby. It's no more your fault than it is mine." After pausing to take a few breaths, through my mouth, I added, We're not going to say anymore about this, baby. Not now, not ever."
As I slowly wiped the tears away, I mouthed the words, "I love you." Her smile, even before Ivanna returned the gesture, said it all for me.

"Baby, we should call off the rest. You know, just go home, and . . ."

"NONSENSE! I won't hear of it. Do you hear me . . ." I said, coming around now from my injury. "Why is everyone so glum," I said as I turned to the silent crowd. This is our wedding day. It is a time to rejoice and celebrate."

Turning back to Mr. Harkins, I said, "there are still many wonderful, and oh so messy delights for us. Starting with these," I said as I pointed to the last two pies sitting on the far table. I have heard of a thing called the Mississippi Mud Pie, but never seen one. Is that what these are?"

"Uh, um, yes . . . yes, sir, Mr. Roberto." The normally unflappable manager of the finest restaurant on the entire eastern seaboard, started to regain his posture. "Yes, sir, and this recipe came down from my great-grandmother from Tupelo, Mississippi, sir. It's all chocolate, even the crust." He said this last with a slight grin.

"And, we all know how much Bobby loves chocolate, don't we," Vonni said as she came up and gave me a big sloppy kiss on my cheek. Her eyes said it, even before Ivanna said, "I love you, baby."

"And I love you too."

"Bobby, why don't you just give me a pie sandwich with those last two pies," Vonni said behind a big grin. "And you can hit me as hard as you want to."

"I have a better ideal, baby," I said as I leaned over and whispered into her ear. The grin on her face was answer enough for me.

And so, we stood there, ready to take the last two pies. After disgorging thirty-eight sloppy pies, fifty gallons of pudding, and thirty-six liters, or nine and a half gallons of custard, we were down to two pies. These were the ones added as an addendum for Mr. Harkins. The Mississippi Mud pie is a concoction of all chocolate, down to the chocolate graham cracker crust.

And wanting to do something a little different with these last two mucky warheads, we decided to do an old-fashioned duel. Starting back-to-back, pies raised in our right hands. With Mr. Harkins calling the count, we each marched five paces, turned, and let fly. My pie went true as it splattered straight into Ivanna's face. Vonni's however, not so true, as it sailed wide right, completely missing me by about six feet. Ha!