Payback

There’s a new game in town.

Hello, my deserving dunkees,

I’m beyond delighted to present to you my first ever commissioned story.

This is a collaboration with a lovely anonymous subscriber, whom I have assigned a pen name: Goo Read. If you enjoy this one, we’re hoping to team up again in future! GR was a pleasure to work with, and provided most of the deliciously devious details.

Although I adore a gunk dunk, I’d never written a directly GYOB-inspired story - partly because there’s a wealth of good ones already. But GR’s pitch was hard to resist. I’d get to write a new dommy, messy gameshow host, tormenting two competing pairs who really hit the sweet spot of “squabbling rivals.”

GR also suggested that maybe our new mistress could be in competition with Alexa. Honestly - when I first published a few horny slimy stories, I never thought I’d be launching a GungeWorld Cinematic Universe. (Cine-splattic? No, that’s no good.)

This is the second-longest story I’ve ever published, behind House of Mirrors. It’s a whole-ass, big old filthy gameshow. It’s messy all the way through, though there’s a gradual build towards the messiest and naughtiest stuff. And I’m proud of how the character relationships develop and unfold along the way.

The vibe of this show is just a little different from GungeWorld. The edges are a bit sharper, and I enjoyed that, as a writing challenge.

And it’s a free story for all subscribers! GR wanted to invite you all into the audience for this grimy little slopfest. Many thanks GR (though I also write private commissions, if you’re less keen on voyeurs…)

Before I leave you to it, a quick update on my plans. I’m working mostly on another commission, though I’ve got two GungeWorld stories in the editing pipeline. And I’m determined to finish Exposé with Rainbow Mika before 2024 is out.

That’s enough from me. On with the show.

---

Payback

A Slop House Story

Words by Daisy D. Duncan
Story by Daisy D. Duncan & Goo Read

---

Prologue

Dnk.

It made a quiet noise, the slime-green plastic ball bouncing off the side-table. Alexa wouldn’t have heard it at all, if she’d had music or a podcast playing. The sound snapped her gaze upwards from the blueprint she’d been scrutinising, a long-range pie-flinger.

Plok, dnf, dnf.

The ball bounced from the table to the wall, then a couple more times on the carpet, quickly coming to a rest.

Alexa glanced up over her shoulder, reverse-engineering the ball’s trajectory, and piecing together that it must have flown through the open window. She tossed the document down onto her desk, and with a coiled grace, swiftly rose from the chair and exited her office.

She paced across the foyer with powerful urgency, giving Janice the receptionist quite a start, and pushed open the door to the outside with a firm palm.

There was nobody in the car park. The sound of a motorcycle engine was already tailing off into the hot summer air, and within a few seconds, all was quiet.

After a long moment, she went back inside.

“Everything alright, Alexa?”

“Sorry about that, Janice,” she replied, returning across the foyer at a more normal pace. “Nothing to worry about. I think.”

Janice’s eyebrow raised - you think?

“I’ll let you know.”

Much too professional to pry further, her employee went back to her work.

Back in the office, Alexa picked up the unexpected interloper. A light, hollow plastic sphere. It wasn’t until she tossed it idly in her hand that she noticed the writing.

Written in small, scribbly capitals, black ink: OPEN ME.

Her eyes narrowed. She really didn’t have time for some Alice in Wonderland bullshit today.

Had to be done, though. She retook her seat, opened the top drawer of the desk, and grabbed a pair of scissors. Within a few seconds, she’d snipped a slit into the plastic, then widened it enough to prise the ball open. Inside was a folded piece of paper. She looked upwards at the ceiling for a moment, trying to think how someone would slip a note inside a sealed plastic ball. Then she decided that question could wait for later.

Before unfolding it, she hesitated for a moment, trying to cram words like death threat and extortion down into the back of her mind. But nothing would be solved by avoidance, so she opened it up and read the words, clearly scrawled by the same Sharpie as before.

INTRODUCING YOUR COMPETITION:
SLOPHOUSE.TV
ERIS XXX

She navigated to the website, and what she saw as she scrolled made her brow furrow. Soon, she reached down into her handbag, and withdrew her credit card from her purse.

Could have included a discount code, at least. Rude.

Once she’d paid for access, Alexa set the first video she came across to play, watching in silence.

After around fifteen minutes, she paused it, and called Sally, whom she knew was working backstage.

“Hiya.”

“Hey. Uh, just got kind of an important message. Can you come over?”

Sally sighed. She really hadn’t expected her wife to have a horny day.

Reading her mind, Alexa continued: “Not like that. You should see this.”

Oh, okay. Sally could hear the concern in Alexa’s voice. Perhaps this time she wasn’t just being summoned to lick pussy.

“Sure. See you in a mo.”

By the time she reached the office, Alexa had set up the video on the large TV, ready to play again from the start. She sat on the comfortable grey couch opposite the screen, holding the remote. Looking up at Sally with friendly eyes, she patted the seat beside her.

“This is weird. Movie night? Movie… afternoon?”

“Sorry, I know you’re busy. But like I said… you should really see this.”

I: Strife and Discord

A steady, fuzzy electric bassline pulsed, and a lone snare hit the 2s and 4s. The camera was capturing nothing but a bare brick wall. Ten seconds passed.

From right of frame, a figure sauntered in, ignoring the camera entirely.

Her profile was striking. A shiny, emerald-green corset pinched in her waist, but below, she widened immediately, the skin of her round buttocks and thick thighs a rich brown. Her legs were sheathed in black fishnets, leading down to a pair of pristine black Doc Martens that clomped against the floor.

At the top of the corset, her chest ballooned out just as pleasingly, though it was a little hard to appreciate at this angle, seeing as her hands were held aloft. In one, she carried a bottle of Red Stripe, and in the other, balanced on the palm, she carried a large, tasty-looking cream pie.

The woman drank lazily from her bottle as she mooched in front of the camera, like a bored teenager awaiting a friend at the bus stop. She didn’t look down the lens, but while she swanned about, it captured her shoulder-length black hair, streaked occasionally with bright white, which hung asymmetrically over one of her big brown eyes.

She finally seemed to notice the camera. The corner of her mouth that was adorned with two lip-rings - not her only piercings - curved up into a wicked smirk.

“What’s up, perverts? Yeah, I see you staring, you mucky pups.”

Now, she broke into a grin. “Hey. At least you’ve come to the right place.”

Her right arm twisted a little, readying itself.

“I’m Eris. Welcome to the Slop House.”

And with that, she hefted the pie right into the camera. It was a perfect hit, the visual immediately becoming blurred and creamy, and the microphones clearly picking up the sound of a wet squelch.

As the pie hit the protective sheeting, the low bassy riff suddenly transformed into a full-on thrash of punk, accompanied by Eris’s filthy laugh. The camera appeared to jerk around confused for a few seconds.

“Oops! I pied the camera. Ahaha. Come on Wenches, find me another. Quick-quick now.”

Several seconds later, a sudden cut, and now the same imposing, punky mistress was framed reclining, in what looked like a fairly cheap and shabby armchair. Leaning back only accentuated her cleavage, and the look on her face suggested she knew it.

Beside the armchair was a large video screen, higher than it was wide, like a widescreen TV turned on its side. Its frame looked like slightly rusted metal - in fact, just about everything in shot appeared a bit distressed and shabby. The lighting was artfully low, but not too low. Eris’s luscious curves, racy outfit and piercing gaze were being picked up in full 4K HD, that much was certain.

“So yeah,” she began, as the music quietened back down to a low throb. “The Slop House. My little hideaway, slash-club, slash-dungeon. Pretty cool, if I do say so myself.”

Her accent spoke to the east London suburbs, all wide vowels and studied insouciance. She picked up her beer from the side-table, and gave it another swig.

“What do we do here? Oh come on. If you found me, you know damn well. But sure - just in case you’re watching with your grandma for some reason, here’s the deal.

“Do you remember when gameshows actually had some risk to them? When you could lose, and like - bad things would happen to you? I’m not talking celebrity jungle bullshit - just normal everyday people, going on TV, and ending up totally messy and humiliated?”

Eris sighed. “Ahh, I miss that. But do you ever think they weren’t mean enough?”

Taking another swig of the beer, she smouldered down the lens.

“High stakes. Come play at the Slop House, you might get what you really want. But you might get more than you bargained for.”

At this point, she gracefully peeled herself up from the armchair, and stepped towards the screen. In fact, she rather embraced it - the metal edge of it nestling between her breasts as she hovered one hand just above the surface.

“And here’s the best part. You can watch these poor unfortunate souls struggle, live on camera, from the comfort of your own home… where no-one can see how much you’re enjoying it.” She gave a meaningful wink.

“Shall we say hello to the chat?”

With a lithe finger, she tapped to activate the screen. Immediately, a torrent of text began to scroll up it - comments, rendered in a nice chunky font, shorn of their usernames.

FUCK YEAH
SLIME TIME!
ARE U GETTING GUNGED?
SLOP HOUSE FTW

“Ahh, the unwashed plebs. Evening, you ‘orrible rabble.”

She leaned away from the screen, and gestured down at herself, flexing and stretching a little, unashamedly drawing attention to her body.

“What do you think of my outfit? Episode one, I wasn’t sure if it’d go down well…”

The text continued to scroll, and Eris watched closely, hoping the AI-aided system would work. Ideally, it would pick out messages from the real-time chat that were both vaguely coherent and unashamedly horny. Thankfully, it was off to a good start.

OMGGG ERIS
SO FUCKING HOT
NEEDS GUNGE GUNGE HER NOW

“Gunge her now? Oh no, you poor idiot. If you think I’m getting gunged tonight, you might wanna close the stream, cos you’ll only end up disappointed.” She rolled her eyes.

“I hear ya, though, I hear ya. I think we should go and find out who will be facing a slimy fate - and worse besides. But you’ll have to generate some atmosphere, chat. How ‘bout you hit that CHEER button, and get this place a bit lively?”

Obediently, the live viewers clicked the option in their chat box, and a background of raucous whoops and applause began to play, getting louder every moment. Eris smiled at her own ingenuity - again, this was some advanced AI trickery. The viewers could cheer, boo, laugh, and so on, and a sophisticated algorithm would translate their clicks into very convincing audio.

“That’s what I wanna hear. Now come with me.”

She strolled through the set, revealing more of its indie-nightclub decor, her limbs loose, her swagger nonchalant.

As she reached her destination, the camera framed Eris taking her place on another large chair, which stood on a small raised stage. Two tall screens, much like the one before, were attached to the wall, behind each of the host’s shoulders. The stage was flanked by four women - in varying states of comfort.

On the left of the shot were two fairly tall white ladies, who looked in their mid-twenties. The resemblance was immediately apparent - both had straight, smooth red hair that fell to their shoulders, deep green eyes, and rosy cheeks. Their figures were similar too - and quite a sight to behold. Both had large, luscious breasts, straining against bright yellow sports-bikini tops - low-cut, and definitely a size too small, encouraging some outrageous cleavage. Wide, curvy hips were sheathed in yellow bikini panties, not drastically skimpy, but just as enticingly tight. The expanses of skin left bare by these outfits were, on both girls, periodically adorned with tattoos.

One of the girls sat in a similar chair to Eris’s, looking rather smiley and smug, her legs neatly crossed, hands perched in her lap. Her tattoos were intricate and detailed - a large mythical bird of some kind descended from one shoulder, and a female warrior queen stood proudly on the other.

The other member of this pair stood inside a tall barred enclosure with a domed roof - essentially, a human-sized birdcage made of grey metal. Her tattoos were smaller and rather cuter - a love heart here, a cartoon cat there, and the like. She held two of the vertical bars, pouting in discomfort, and glancing with a hangdog expression between the camera and the host.

This arrangement was neatly mirrored opposite. In the cage on the right was a tall and imposing figure, with skin the colour of burnt umber, intense brown eyes, and long, raven hair tied into a ponytail. She seemed older, late thirties perhaps, and her body looked powerfully athletic, lean and toned and muscled beneath her royal blue bikini. She didn’t seem at all sheepish or embarrassed to be locked in this little prison - instead, she held a rakish pose, hands on hips, shooting regular glances at the girl in the chair next to her.

Where the yellow-clad girls were clearly related, the difference between the two in blue could not be starker. In the chair sat a petite, pale girl, maybe the youngest of the four, with wide, innocent blue eyes, an adorable button nose, and a neat blonde bob. Her body language seemed to betray some nerves, her hands fidgeting together in her lap, occasionally tugging absent-mindedly at the fabric of her tight swimwear, as if she wasn’t used to wearing something so revealing.

Eris looked down the lens of the camera, not addressing the nervous girls around for the moment.

“Tonight in the Slop House, we’re playing a game all about sweet revenge. I’ve been kicking around a few possible titles. I thought I might call it Gunge Your Old Buddy. Or, I dunno, Gushing Yuckiness Over Babes. But I don’t like being too clever-clever, and I also don’t fancy getting sued, so I’m just calling it Payback.”

The artificial crowd noise rippled a little louder with excitement.

“Two of our contestants tonight have a real bee in their bonnet about someone else in their life. So they’ve brought them here, to my little den of iniquity, hoping they’ll get to dish out a dose of punishment - and send their nominee to the Mega Mucky Super Sloppy Gunk Dunk!”

More algorithmic cheering rose from the speakers.

“Time to meet our players, I think! Let’s start with the yellow team.” Eris turned to her right, and looked down towards the redheaded girl in the seat. “What’s your name, who have you brought along - and why?”

The lass bobbed her shoulders a little, as if building her confidence, then put on her best perky voice.

“Hi Eris - I’m Bella, and I really want to gunge my younger sister Beattie.” Her accent was a warm Bristolian. “She’s such a little princess - she acts so innocent, and she gets away with everything.”

“That does sound bloody annoying. You’ve brought us some examples, haven’t you?”

Bella nodded. “Mmm-hmm.”

“Roll VT!”

The screen between Eris and the yellow contestants flickered into life, and Bella’s face took up much of the frame. She was filming a video in selfie mode.

“So I’m at mum and dad’s house,” she began. “Here in the living room - look at this.”

Bella flicked the phone around, pointing the camera at a suspicious purple stain on the cream-coloured carpet, beside the sofa.

“Beattie had a party when she was in sixth form, and she got so drunk on red wine, she puked on the carpet. When the stain didn’t come out, she blamed it on the dog! And they believed her! I’m still annoyed about that - I always got in so much trouble for drinking…”

A cut, and now Beattie was standing outside in the garden. “This,” she said, indicating a flowerbed behind her, “was where she used to leave her fag-ends when she went out for a sneaky smoke. Again, mum and dad discovered them - stupid place to leave them - and guess who got blamed? That’s right, muggins here! Just because I was older! Argh!”

One more cut, and this time Bella’s face was trying to suppress giggles. “This one’s just too good. It’s like a week before the show, I can’t believe it. Look at Beattie’s car.”

The camera took in a silver Skoda Fabia. One of its headlights was smashed, and the area around it had been totally crumpled.

“She drove into a bollard. And somehow, she’s convinced Dad to help pay for the repairs! I’ll bet my life she put on the puppy-dog eyes. Little Baby Beattie. I’m fed up with it - you have to let me gunge her!”

The video ended, and the in-studio cameras captured Beattie’s face in the cage, looking mightily annoyed.

“Well, Beattie,” began the host. “Seems pretty damning to me. Playing the sweet innocent little girl all the time - it deffo sounds like a good reason for some slimy punishment.”

“That is so not the whole truth,” began Beattie, thrusting an accusing finger towards her sister. “She’s done so much mean stuff to me, and got me in trouble loads of times. It should be her in the cage!”

“Well, maybe you should have emailed the show before she did, dum-dum. That’s enough from you - maybe I’ll give you a chance to plead your case later. For now, I’m interested to know what the viewers think…”

On the same screen that had shown the video, some chat highlights started to scroll up. Bella snickered, and Beattie blushed deeply, as she read the audience’s thoughts.

YAY FOR BOOBS
GUNGE THE GINGER!
SLIME BEATTIE PLZ
BIG N MILKY
BEATTIE FOR THE GUNGE

It continued much in that vein, before Eris reached back to tap the screen and mercifully shut it off for now. “Looks like gunging you would make a lot of people happy, Beattie. Me included. But we’ve got two more contestants to meet.” Eris swivelled in her seat, and repeated her introductory questions to the girl clad in the blue bikini.

“Erm, hi. I’m Penelope, and I want to gunge my riding instructor, Maria. She’s always… um, she gives me the worst jobs at the stables, and she’s always really harsh on me, even though I try my best and train really hard.”

In the cage, Maria rolled her eyes while Eris cued up Penelope’s video. It began with a striking image - a huge pile of manure.

“So normally, when it’s my turn to muck out the stables,” said Penelope from behind the camera, “I would bring some old clothes to change into. But today, Maria said she’d decided to change the rota at short notice.”

She spun the phone around, and angled it to capture her riding helmet, her starched blouse, and her tight, black jodhpurs. “So I’ve got to do it in my riding gear, so that’s another load of washing for me. And I only mucked them out last week - no way should it be my turn again!”

It cut to her next clip - Penelope was sitting in a changing room, in the same outfit, though she’d doffed her helmet. Her hair seemed straggly, and her face sweaty.

“I’ve just had to do a whole hour of extra practice… Maria said my form was poor on the jumps, even though I cleared nearly all of them. Jemma was so much worse than me, and she got to go home! I swear, it’s a vendetta.” Penelope sighed, and gazed beseechingly into her camera. “So please, please let me send Maria to the Gunk Dunk!”

As the video switched off, the tall Latina lady barked out a contemptuous laugh.

“Just so you know, Penelope,” said Eris, “It’s actually called the Mega Mucky Super Sloppy Gunk Dunk. But I’ll let you off this time.” The meek girl gave an embarrassed wince.

“Now then. Maria. Are you a harsh but fair taskmaster, or just a total bitch?”

“Ha! She’s such a drama queen, this Penelope.” Her voice was loud and defiant, gently inflected with the tones of her native Argentina. “I’m just trying to toughen her up a little. Young people these days - you know what I mean? You have to shovel some horseshit, it’s not the end of the world.”

Eris smiled. “Got a bit of an attitude on you, eh? That might serve you well. What do the viewers think, though?” Once again, she set the top comments scrolling.

DOMMY MOMMY
DUNK HER IN THE MANURE
STEP ON ME MARIA
GUNGE PENELOPE INSTEAD!

The last comment had the petite blonde squirming in her seat, and Eris very much noticed. “Youch, Penelope! Looks like not everyone’s on your side. Never mind though - maybe you can win them over.”

Penelope tried to keep herself calm. Now that the cameras were rolling, she was much more nervous than she’d expected. And Eris’s continuing spiel didn’t help.

“So how do we decide who gets to throw their nemesis into a huge tub of cold, stinky, horrible gunge? By playing some silly games, of course. Silly messy games - in case any of you were daft enough to think you’d get away clean…”

None of them were quite under that impression - they knew the rough shape of what they’d signed up for, if not the full details.

“No time to waste. Let’s get these squabbling sluts ready for our first game. We’ll see you after a quick commercial break. Buy the products, you consumerist sheep!”

---

A sharp, rocky musical sting took the stream into break mode. Those watching live were presented with a fairly diverting slideshow - adverts for sex toys and lube, fetish porn subscription offers, sneak previews of upcoming Slop House content. Those watching on catchup - including Alexa and Sally - got a trimmed-down version that only took around 30 seconds. Alexa wasn’t tempted to skip past it - she wanted to see what sponsorship deals this show had managed to land.

Back on set, however, Eris stood sharply up from her chair, and began to bark out orders. There was very little difference from her on-camera demeanour.

“Right! We’re live again in five, so let’s get moving. Get ‘em out of the cages please. On your feet, you two.”

A couple of the stagehands - or Wenches, as Eris had dubbed them - efficiently opened the cage doors and let Maria and Beattie step out. These Wenches were distinctly on-brand for the Slop House - punky-looking girls in distressed clothing, lots of dyed hair and piercings.

“Follow me - quickly now.”

The foursome obeyed, having to hustle to keep up with Eris’s brisk walking speed, her Dockers thudding against the floor. The sisters in particular jiggled deliciously as they did so. They followed through a nearby set of double doors, into a room with the same distressed brick walls, but a much higher ceiling. Standing in front of them was the apparatus for the first game - a gargantuan inflatable edifice. In contrast to the usual neon hues of these things, it looked to be entirely black and white.

Above and around the bouncy mountain were various industrial-looking pipes, vats, and other nonsense. But none of the wide-eyed girls had a proper chance to suss out what they were in for quite yet.

“Costumes! Maria, Beattie - these are yours.”

With the time pressure of a live show, there wasn’t breathing room for a proper costume change - and besides, those tight two-pieces were intentionally chosen. So the two nominated girls were each handed a short burgundy shoulder-cloak with “ermine” trim, clearly bought from some basic party-supplies store. With an amused glance at each other, they fastened the clasps around their necks - the fabric draped a little down their upper arms and back, but didn’t cover much else.

The costume was completed with a pair of shiny gold plastic crowns. “Looking good, girls,” said Eris, with a noticeable dose of sarcasm. “That way - the Wenches will help you up to your perches.”

Next it was Bella and Penelope’s turn - they were each given a prim white hat, something a French peasant woman may have worn, and a neckerchief. The fact that it was all rather slapdash only added to the charm.

After a slightly nerve-racking ascent up a pair of tall stepladders, Maria and Beattie ended up at the top of the giant inflatable, easily twenty feet off the ground, sitting in big squishy chairs. Now that they were situated, the gooey potential looked much clearer - Maria continued to laugh blithely to herself, but Beattie winced a little as she assessed her surroundings.

Dangling from the ceiling was one vertical, round-ended pipe, not quite over her head - a little in front, in fact, which was puzzling. Less puzzling was the large, rusty-looking vat that hung ominously above and behind her. And there was also a tall vertical pipe that stood beside the inflatable, jutting up from the floor - at its top, it kinked back down to aim at the side of Beattie’s head. The whole arrangement was mirrored on Maria’s side.

The two of them were also able to look down at the course below. The whole thing was split in half, with an inflatable divider between the sections. Each half had a wall at the back with a wide slot in it. In front of that wall was a shallow, square pit, clearly filled with a couple of feet or so of bright gunge - yellow slime for the blue team, blue slime for the yellow team. Another pair of standing-pipes stood ready to spray into the pits, and a pair of tipping-vats hovered above the back wall, too.

In front of the pits stood Bella and Penelope, ready and waiting. And in front of them was the inflatable hill they would have to traverse - not too steep an angle, and there was a knotted rope dangling down to help, but it was still a decent climb. At the top, on the barrier that separated the slope from the “royals” in their chairs, was a row of five thick, oversized playing cards on each team’s side, stuck there with velcro.

Before the Wenches descended, with time running out before the end of the break, they tapped Maria and Beattie on their shoulders, handing each of them a large tin bucket with a sturdy handle.

“You’ll need this. Break a leg…”

Beattie swallowed down her nerves. Well, if I might be getting very messy later, I might as well try and get used to it now…

II: Haves and Have-nots

Eris had an ascent to make too - into a tall umpire’s chair that was able to look down over the playing field, and the waiting, nervous contestants. She ensured her mic was clipped on correctly, and then boomed out some instructions, which were amplified by the PA.

“We’re live in twenty seconds. I’m not bloody repeating myself, so when I explain the game for the viewers, I suggest you all listen up too. Clear?”

Butterflies fluttered in stomachs, as all four of them nodded towards her.

“Good. In five! Four! Three!”

She left the last two numbers silent as she addressed the camera again. Her facial jewellery glistened under the studio lights.

“Welcome back to the Slop House, deviants! I’m sure you’re all firmly anticipating our first game. It’s called Royal Fl… oh, wait. Yeah, the whole ‘not-getting-sued’ thing. Let’s call it… The Queen is Dead. Here’s the lowdown.”

The multiple cameras swivelled, stretched and panned to match Eris’s breezy, sarky voiceover. In the control room, tech Wenches smartly cut between shots.

“Our high-and-mighty queens sit atop the castle. But the peasants are thirsty for revenge - and vive la révolution, I say! To depose the queens, the peasants must climb the castle walls and claim the five playing cards affixed there.”

The cameras cut back to Eris, who was giving side-eye and raised eyebrows. “Look, the analogy isn’t going to hold perfectly, OK? Anyway. Once they get hold of a card, they will place it in the slot down there. Carefully, I would recommend.”

Penelope glanced behind her at the slime-pit, understanding she’d have to wade through it just to progress in the game. She tried not to think about slipping over and faceplanting into the stuff.

“Of course, the rich cunts always have ways of keeping the plebs out. Our queens will be able to fill their buckets with gooey ammunition, to defend themselves.” The overhead pipes were in shot at this point.

“But just to introduce a little sorely-needed democracy to this scenario, our viewers will be able to side with one of the queens.”

Eris pointed a finger directly into the camera lens. “Yes, that’s you, dumbass! Whichever queen you favour will be supplied with more gunge, to better quell the uprising. Just click the button. It’s not hard.”

The cameras captured a quick competitive glance between the two nominees atop the hill.

“The first peasant to deposit all five cards will be the winner. Their queen won’t get the guillotine - but they will get something that starts with G…”

A hammy glance upwards and backwards at the hanging vats now, from both Beattie and Maria. Even though she was trepidatious, Beattie had to admit that the thrill of the lights and cameras was getting her a little excited. She really hoped she’d get plenty of gunge to slather over Bella down there.

“Oh - one more thing. Let’s sprinkle in a little chaos. Four of the cards on each side are Queens, fittingly - but one of them is a Joker. Deposit that card, and things might get a little sloppier on both sides of the class divide.”

Eris held her hand up in the air for a moment, as if commanding the contestants’ attention.

“Ready. Steady. Goo!”

The speakers burst into life with artificial cheering, and a scuzzy rock soundtrack began. Bella and Penelope were both taken aback by the sudden start, but quickly sprang forward, grasped the ropes in front of them, and began to pull themselves upwards.

Eris, for her own amusement as much as the viewers’, provided running commentary.

“And they’re off! Which peasant will depose their tyrannical ruler? Slam those buttons people, let’s make some noise and pour some gunge!”

From on high, two surprised shrieks cut through the noise. The pipes above Maria and Beattie had both instantly begun pouring a stream of grass-green slop. Beattie was lucky - she’d been holding the bucket neatly on her legs, which is exactly where the gunge fell, though its loud, splashy impact into the pail was alarming. Maria, meanwhile, had been holding the bucket to the side - and for that, she got a wet, sloppy slathering of slime against her muscular thighs. Shocked, she hurriedly rectified her mistake and positioned the bucket, which began to fill. She squirmed, feeling her slippery legs slide together underneath it.

“Ooh, it looks like our viewers are arming Maria with more slime… interesting…”

The bouncy white runway up the hill was still clean and dry, so both Penelope and Bella found their first ascent fairly straightforward, and they were soon near the top. The queens, meanwhile, were faced with a choice - try to pour some slime from their seats, or lean forward under the stream for a better angle?

Beattie chose the first option, though her bucket was hardly filled at all. She thrust it forward, wincing as the stream splashed over her legs. And the result was disappointing - a pretty pathetic slosh of gunge over the lip of her enclosure. Bella gave a startled “yip!” as she felt a few splats hit her hair and arms, but she clung on.

Maria, meanwhile, seemed much more determined to hamper Penelope’s progress. She gathered as much gunge as she could, then leaned forward. She ducked to the side a little, so the pouring goop slicked over her cloak and down her back. Upending the bucket, she slathered a decent helping of the green stuff directly down over Penelope’s head.

“Eugh!” Penelope tensed up as she received her first ever gunging, holding fast to the rope. It was lukewarm, clinging wetly to her hair and shoulders, dripping down her button nose, and knocking her silly little hat clean off. She had to grab a card, and fast.

Anticipating that things would only get trickier as the game went on, she swung her weight to the left, then lunged to the right, grabbing the outermost card on that side. It came away easily, and as soon as she confirmed it was safe in her grip, she dropped onto her bum, and let go of the rope, hoping her momentum wouldn’t send her sliding straight into the gunge pit at the end.

Bella had also grabbed a card, her central one, and the two contestants were neck-and-neck. They both slid to a halt a few feet short of the gooey hollow, then shuffled forwards and carefully lowered their legs from the bouncy runway. With little hops forward, they both waded into the thick, knee-deep gunge, Penelope making little noises of disgust.

Eris had spotted something. “Fuck yeah - I think Bella might have picked up the Joker there. This should be a good laugh…”

Both contestants carefully slotted their playing cards through the opening. Bella had just turned around to wade back through the pit, when a loud hissing noise on her left grabbed her attention. She turned to look - only to receive a blast of foam right in the face.

“Guaaagh!”

The standing pipe next to the inflatable had begun to spew a fluffy white torrent down into the pit. As she cowered away, Bella felt the stuff coat her shoulder, back and hair. It felt light and slightly damp, but it was squirting out at a rapid clip, in a widening cone, starting to fill the pit with foam.

A similarly-accented wail of shock had come from the top of the inflatable, too. The pipe aimed at Beattie had also turned on, pumping its soggy stream right over her head and shoulders, knocking off her crown and soaking her cheap cloak. She turned away, trying to keep the bucket steady and catch more gunge. Her squeals of discomfort only grew louder when she realised it didn’t seem to be stopping. Maria, turning her head to see what the fuss was about, cackled with delight.

Bella scurried to the edge of the pit, flustered, and jumped forwards onto the runway. The foamy surprise had put her a little behind the determined Penelope, who was already climbing once again.

“A little gap opening up now,” narrated Eris. “Will it stay that way?”

The audience votes, though, had continued to lean towards Maria over Beattie. That advantage - plus the extra time afforded by Penelope completing an entire trip down and back up - meant the riding instructor’s bucket was now full and heavy with thick green slime. She carefully watched Penelope climb, and then when she was in range, Maria leaned forward once again, not seeming to care about the splatter from above.

“Oh Penelope…” she teased, with a wicked grin. The petite blonde didn’t look up - she just held onto the rope and tensed.

The bucketload of goo exploded over her head and shoulders with a loud splurge, and she screeched in alarm. Her chest and thighs were immediately coated in clingy, slippery slime - as was, unfortunately, the sloping white runway below her, great green rivers slithering down it.

Penelope’s feet began to slip - she scrabbled for purchase, then fell forwards onto the slimy plastic, desperately gripping the rope as she did so. Maria pealed with laughter, already sitting back to fill up her bucket with the generous allowance of slime from the viewers.

“Ooh dear! Score one for the monarchy! But wait a minute - she’s actually clinging on…”

She may have been small, but Penelope was strong. With difficulty, she dragged herself to her feet, and inched as high up the rope as she could go, before lunging for another edge card, sticking to her strategy. Again, once she had a firm grip, she allowed herself to fall, away from Maria’s menacing gunge-bucket, righting herself as she went, pointing her legs forward.

This time, the extra slime imparted extra slidey momentum, and her eyes widened as she approached the goo-pit. But she decelerated just enough - and in fact, using her rider’s poise, made a graceful dismount into the slop, staying on her feet and paddling quickly through to deposit her second card of the game.

Bella was making a second climb too, and squealing through a dousing from her sister, slightly better-aimed this time, despite the distraction of an ongoing foam-shower. Just as she grasped a card, one of her feet slipped - and though she managed to keep hold, she fell awkwardly onto her front, her generous chest squishing against the already-slimy runway as she slid backwards.

She stopped thankfully short of the pit at the end, and breathlessly righted herself, already red-cheeked and panting from exertion. Then she gave a little squeal of trepidation, remembering that she’d have to plough through the ongoing foam shower to even score. The white fluff had already piled high onto the surface of the slop below, enough to engulf anyone wading through.

“Bella’s got quite a hazard to navigate now! Poor thing.”

She really didn’t have a choice - and so, swearing to herself, she plopped down into the trough and fought her way through the spraying foam, sensibly using the oversized card as a moderately-effective shield. Once she’d deposited it, and navigated her way back out, she sighed in annoyance to see Penelope way ahead, already at the top again.

The diminutive horse-girl had adjusted her strategy this time - before she was in range of her taunting coach, she dropped to her knees, hauling herself up the rope with her strong arms first and foremost. It was a smart decision: as expected, Maria mercilessly dumped another huge slosh of gunge right over her. It left her hair covered by a shiny green dome, and her bikini top was sodden, her perky little breasts feeling slimy and strange, starting to show some firmness at their tips.

Penelope was a woman on a mission, though, and she’d left herself an easier task by going for the edge cards first. It was much simpler to pluck her next one - she did so, and smartly turned around to escape once again, riding down on her bum beside the rope. A little more slippery, and a little faster, this time - with a quivering cry, she fell right into the goo, landing on her behind in the pit with a splat.

The sensation - her whole legs and hips suddenly swamped in thick yellow gunk - made her shudder, though in fascination as much as disgust.

“Oops! A slimy splash-landing for Penelope. Is she getting too hasty?”

As she stood wearily up, extracting herself, she did notice this card was a Joker. The madness on the other half of the playing field hadn’t escaped her attention, so she prepared herself before slotting the card through. As the foam began to spray down, she hurriedly retreated back onto the runway, not getting too slathered. She looked up with some satisfaction, watching Maria shout in alarm as her own splat-shower started to gush down.

Beattie was now buried in a mound of this silly, airy fluff, loudly complaining about the voters siding with Maria. “Help! Give me more gunge, she’s coming!”

Her sister was indeed approaching again - though not with great speed or grace. She was tired, slimy, and not a strong climber at the best of times. After enduring another comparatively light splattering from above, she jumped to grab a card - and completely missed, falling onto her side and losing grip on the rope.

“Nooo! Fuuuck!”

“Swing and a miss from Bella!” taunted Eris, as the bouncy redhead flailed and slid, very nearly tumbling headlong into the goo at the bottom. “Let’s be honest - this is only ending one way, isn’t it?”

This prediction proved accurate. The rest of the game was pretty much a formality. Gritting her teeth, Penelope fought her way up the slimy hill, grimaced through another thorough gunging from Maria, and claimed a fourth card. She slid into the goo, pawed her way through the foam, and emerged again for the final climb.

“I think the end is nigh for the Blue queen…”

To her credit, Bella didn’t give up - she gathered herself, addressed the rope again, and managed to grab her third card. But Penelope was right beside her. Maria, soaked in gunge and foam herself, delivered one final bucketload. It was no use, though - Penelope grabbed her final card, and the two contestants slid back down together. Frantically dashing into the foam, they slotted them into the goal at nearly the same time - Bella just a fraction before.

“And that’s the game!”

Just to underline the host’s point, a loud klaxon boomed from the PA. Penelope rushed out of the spray and hopped up onto the runway, wiping fluff away from her face, eyes trained with anticipation at the top of the inflatable mountain.

The two ammunition-pipes both ceased pouring gunge, and the foam-sprayers quietened too - including, Penelope noticed, the one at her back. It gave a slightly clearer view of Maria, who was hunching her shoulders, pointing a furious finger down at Penelope, and shouting.

“You little- aaaghck!”

The vat above Maria tipped downwards with incredible swiftness. From its wide mouth, an enormous wave of thick yellow gunge sloshed out, all at once, right over Maria’s inflatable throne.

It was a veritable explosion of slop, fast and heavy and brutal. The slap of slime against plastic and skin was incredibly noisy. Beattie yelped as she got some gooey arcs of collateral damage over her bare legs. Maria screeched and swore in fury. And Penelope watched in silence, entranced by the sight and sound, her heart pounding like a drum.

When the dousing was done, Maria sat there, as stiff as a statue, mouth wide open, absolutely dripping with thick yellow gunk. The virtual audience’s cheers and laughter were at fever pitch, though a few boos were sprinkled in, fans of the Latina firecracker defending their queen. Beattie, in the adjacent seat, looked over with eyebrows hoisted high, glad to have avoided that slopping.

“Penelope wins!” shouted Eris. It was music to the blonde girl’s ears.

“I suppose I should dish out some points,” the host continued. “But one more thing to do first. Queen Maria’s reign is over, and Bella’s revolution has failed.”

She left a teasing beat. “D’you know that saying, consigned to the dustbin of history? Well, I prefer gunge pits to dustbins.”

There was a sudden mechanical noise at the top of the set, between Beattie and Maria’s seats. Sections of the inflatable walls shifted, in neat and carefully-crafted ways. And out of nowhere, a small diagonal channel opened - leading from Maria’s enclosure straight into the sloping runway on the other side.

Well before Maria could process this information, her entire seat tipped forwards at an angle. Accompanied by much yellow goo, and spluttering in shock, her toned body was thrown from the chair into the channel, landing on her flank.

“Whaaa!?”

Lubricated by a whole game’s worth of slop, Maria’s confused, flailing body absolutely pelted down the sloping runway.

Thinking the game was over, Bella had sunk onto her knees, trying to catch her breath. And now, she was suddenly confronted by the sight of a gungey loser, hurtling towards her at a rate of knots. She barely had time to swallow in fear.

Maria barrelled sideways into Bella’s kneeling form, and the two of them slid down into the pit of blue slime in a tangle of limbs, their outraged noises slightly louder than the gungey squelches and the audience’s cheering.

For a long moment, neither of them even knew which way was up. Everything was skin, and slime, and squirming.

The two losers spluttered and swore, finally managing to separate themselves, dragging themselves to their knees, dragging exasperated palms across their face, spitting out gunge.

Naturally, this was the moment the vat above the pit tipped, treating them both to another humiliating deluge of thick purple slime.

If a photographer were asked to capture the emotion of pure delight in a single image, they might have trouble choosing between Penelope’s face and Beattie’s face, in this particular moment.

“Puta madre!”

As Penelope gawped over the dividing wall, and Beattie laughed from on high, the two losers simply knelt there, dripping and defeated, absolutely soaked in thick, wet, multicoloured slop. Maria’s cocksure manner had turned to rage, but Bella was quieter, processing her deep embarrassment, and shivering at the physical sensation.

It was so clingy against her skin. Kneeling there in the pit, which was rather deeper after the vat added its payload, she felt the hug of the gunge against her sodden bikini bottoms. And the sensation of the tight top, squishing her big boobs together, so slimy and slippery…

Her reverie was broken by Eris’s voice, though she barely had the energy to listen or react.

“Like I said - points. I probably should have mentioned them before, but hey - who gives a fuck? Penelope got five cards, and Bella got three - or so my slo-mo Wenches tell me, that was a close finish! 50 points to Penelope, and 30 points to Bella. And a bonus 10 points to Penelope, for winning the game.”

The gooey blonde tilted her head a little. Obviously, she’d had no idea there were bonus points, but on hearing it, she instinctively felt that 10 was a little stingy.

Still, Maria got it fucking good, she thought. And Bella.

And Bella.

A few unwieldy thoughts finally clunked together in her head. For the first time, Penelope properly realised that even as the ‘nominator’, she was in no way protected. Though in retrospect, it seemed so obvious now.

All bets were off here.

She felt a tightness in her thigh muscles.

“60 plays 30 - that’s the sitch. Time for another break, while we hose down the talent. Hope you enjoy the slo-mo replays. See you in ten.”

---

There was the smallest of pauses, as Eris confirmed that the stream had cut from live.

“Right then! Shower time for our gungey ladies. Ladders, please!”

The Wenches sprang into action, and the four exhausted contestants - Maria and Bella especially - had to be cajoled into action. Eris took care of that herself, still casting instructions from her umpire’s chair.

“Never mind, you might win the next game! But I do need you to climb out now, so you can get ready to play it…”

Penelope was first out, and was guided to one side of the set by the Wenches. Beattie got down from her perch next, and joined her. Then, full of sloppy, humiliated ire, Bella and Maria emerged over the inflatable wall, carefully and slimily mounting the ladder and touching down on the hard studio floor.

Maria began striding towards Penelope, a trail of slop left in her wake, her gunge-matted ponytail swishing behind her.

“Tonta! What kind of game have you-”

“Nope!”

One of the Wenches was dressed in a slightly more flamboyant outfit than the rest. A little more makeup on her brown face, a little more cleavage, a little more colour in the outfit. She deftly shoved her wheelchair into the space between the furious Maria and the cowering Penelope. Her sheer presence made Maria halt in her tracks.

“We don’t have time for arguments. Settle it on the field - that’s what this whole show’s about. You lost. Get over it.”

There was a tense silence, none of the four contestants having a clever word to say.

“You all need a shower, don’t you?”

Four nods.

“Right then.”

The tension was in no way defused, just quietened. The contestants were guided to a nook around a corner, hidden from the cameras, which contained four small cubicles, doors ajar.

Nell, the commanding Wench in the wheelchair and Eris’s second-in-command, gave unambiguous instructions. “You’ll need to shower down in your clothes. No need to get every last drop of gunge off - I doubt you’ll be surprised to hear that there’s more to come. Just look presentable. There are towels in the nook, and a hot air function to help you dry off. Meet me out here in five minutes, and I’ll take you to the next game. All clear?”

There was little else to say. The four slimy maidens sheepishly entered the cubicles, and began cleaning up.

While they did so, the stream viewers were treated to a series of action replays from the first game, interspersed with the sponsorship plugs. They watched Penelope taking those large bucketfuls of slime in super slo-mo, the splatters hanging deliciously in the air. Shocked faces caused by sudden foam showers, slippery squishy falls, and of course those outrageous final gungings for Maria and Bella. More comments from the chat were displayed on the screen: the common themes included excitement for game two, appreciation of the thick sloppy gunge, and admiration of the yellow team’s generous figures.

Around five minutes later, the four contestants obediently emerged, not wanting to risk a tongue-lashing from Nell. They were all clean and dry enough to look convincing on camera, at least. Penelope caught Maria’s eye briefly, and was rewarded with a steady glare. Bella also side-eyed her sister, who was looking unbearably smug at how the first game had turned out.

“Proper break is after the third segment,” said Nell, a little more warmly than before. “Come on now - let’s get you all situated.”

III: Builders and Breakers

It was a short walk to the next cavernous studio, and the next piece of outlandish, soft-play equipment. It was flat, unlike the previous one, and it was divided into two distinct sides, with a six-foot wall in between. Solid, overhanging platforms at each end held potential messy menace, and on one of the sides, more dispensers of some kind dangled from the rafters.

Penelope and Bella were given flimsy hi-vis waistcoats to don, and led up onto one of the sides. With some concern, they inspected what awaited them - each was situated near an array of five small pits, recessed into the bouncy floor, arranged like the spots on a dice. The outer ones seemed to be filled with white, fluffy cream, with colourful objects poking through the surface. Looking at the larger pit in the centre, it became clear what those objects were. This one was not filled with goo of any kind, only a pile of large plastic bricks - red, blue, green, and yellow.

There were, however, two ominously wide openings in the overhead canopy, right above those larger central pits. The two contestants fidgeted, preparing themselves for another gooey ordeal.

Maria and Beattie were led to the other side of the set, a longer runway. They were provided the same costume, but there was something more to affix. Two shallow gunge-pits, much like in the first game, sat at the back end of the runway. And draped loosely through each was a sturdy bungee-cord, its middle buried under the gooey surface, emerging finally onto the runway, ending in a belt-like harness. The two girls exchanged pained looks as the Wenches strapped the harnesses around their waists.

That was it: the setup was done, and Eris swanned out from backstage, having enjoyed a little break. She took up position in her surveillance chair, and immediately snapped back into a commanding, haughty tone.

“Glad to see they got you cleaned up. Same deal as before: pay attention, yeah? You wouldn’t wanna miss the details.”

The broadcast countdown started, and Eris was back into host mode.

“Welcome back, degenerates! Thank you for rejoining us - I know it must be… hard to wait patiently when there’s this much messy fun to be had. So without further ado, welcome to Over the Garden Wall.”

The four contestants bounced nervously on the inflated plastic, awaiting instructions.

“Our good girls-”

She used the term with hammy air-quotes.

“...are plagued by nosy neighbours. So they want to add a little height to the dividing wall between their gardens.”

Eris paused, and took a deep breath, like a secondary school teacher dealing with an unruly class.

“Can I just make it clear - anyone posting ‘Build the Wall’ memes in the chat will be instabanned. We’re about dirty fun, not dirty fascism.”

She delicately cleared her throat, and changed her tone.

“Anyway, moving on. Oh no! Some careless builder has left the bricks in mucky holes in the ground! Our contestants will need to find the bricks that match their team colour, and whack them on the top of the wall.”

Eris now gave a teasing glance to the two girls in the harnesses. “Unfortunately, the neighbours are right wankers. They’ve written to the council about your planning application, and they’re not above sneaky tactics. They’ll be trying to disrupt your project as best they can.”

She wiggled her eyebrows to the camera. “Should be fun. Now, viewers - don’t forget to cheer! But also, don’t forget to vote for the Splat Zones above our nasty neighbours. They both have four lovely goo-sploshers above their garden path, and it only takes 100 votes to activate each one…”

There was more wincing from Beattie and Maria, but what could they do at this point?

Eris fast-talked towards another sudden countdown.

“Two minutes on the clock. Most bricks on the wall at the end wins. Ready. Steady. Goo!”

As artificial whoops and cheers crackled from the speakers, Beattie and Maria began to bounce their way down the tracks towards the wall, testing out how much they were encumbered by the belts and weighed down by the bungee cord.

Penelope and Bella, however, had more of a choice to make, and for the moment at least, they both opted for the known over the unknown. With two cute yelps, they both stepped forwards, and slipped down as gracefully as possible into the nearest pit of cream.

“Yeugh!”

This wasn’t the watery foam that Bella had been coated in for most of the last game - it was sticky, sweet and cloying. As her bare legs slithered past the blocks inside, she cringed. But there was work to be done.

In a quiet riot of fluffy goo, both of the girls fumbled through the contents of the pit, trying to find their correctly-coloured bricks, coating their arms in bright white gunk. Bella had the first success, heaving out a yellow block, and planting it firmly on the runway.

“Yes!” She quickly heaved herself out of the pit, then stood up, grabbing the brick on the way, and made towards the wall. Even though it was covered in glop, Bella realised one side of this prop was covered in sturdy velcro, so she shoved its rough side firmly down onto the wall, where it stuck easily.

Within a couple of seconds though, it was yanked away by Beattie, who had taken a short run-up from halfway down the track, then sprinted forward, straining against the bungee. She easily lunged upwards to pluck the brick from its position. Bella was immediately back to square one - and worse, she saw it happen.

“Oh, arse! Fuck off, Beattie!”

Penelope, meanwhile, was using her smarts. While Maria bounced around impotently on the other side of the divide, she delved with purpose into the gooey, creamy little hollow. She unearthed one blue brick, slapped it down at the edge of the pit, then checked if there were any more.

Yes, there were. After more sticky, fluffy rooting around, Penelope managed to get hold of a second and third blue brick. She climbed out as best she could, and after figuring out the correct orientation of the velcro, plonked all three bricks onto the wall in the space of a few seconds.

Maria saw her targets, braced herself, and ran forward, straining against the harness. She firmly grasped a brick, then tossed it off the inflatable runway, as she bounced back a little. After resetting her position, she did the same again, managing her momentum with ease, and successfully plucking a second brick from the wall.

“One-nil so far,” snarked Eris. “Disappointing progress!”

At this point, shrieks emerged from Beattie’s side of the playing field. One of the overhead machines had activated - the one right above the curvy redhead. Its lower surface simply fell open, and an airdrop of gooey payloads was suddenly unleashed onto Beattie: two dozen fragile, gunge-filled balloons.

The orbs of slop burst over and around her, and she wailed in confusion. Bright pink goo splashed against the runway, her bare skin, and her flimsy outfit. She stood, cringing in discomfort, for a long second, before the sight of her sister plonking two more bricks on the wall spurred her into action.

This particular slop recipe, she quickly realised, was sticky rather than slippery. She positioned herself for another lunge, and winced at the unpleasant tacky sensation against her feet. It was harder this time, but she still managed to stretch the thick cord enough to remove another brick from the wall.

Over on the blue team, Penelope had been diligently working away, deciding on her plan and sticking to it - even though it meant her entire lower half and arms getting utterly slathered in thick, sweet pie-cream. She managed to unearth four bricks in the second goo-pit before too long, and once she’d pulled herself out, she busily stacked them up.

Votes from the live stream continued to pile in. Unfortunately for the viewers, when they activated Maria’s first bombardment of gunge-balloons, she wasn’t standing underneath their chosen device.

“Ha!” she barked into the air, throwing her head back. “Missed me!” Still, she knew she’d have a more difficult task from here on out.

The game proceeded at pace, with the builders delving through the cream-pits, and the bungee-clad wreckers galloping awkwardly across the gooey runway. Beattie was once again not favoured by the viewers, and the slop-drop nearest the wall was soon unleashed, splatting her almost as well as the last one. Still, her sister’s clumsiness was starting to become apparent - Penelope’s wall was building quicker than Bella’s, five blocks to two.

“Come on, you useless reprobates,” shouted Eris into the camera. “Hammer those voting buttons! There’s not enough gunge for my liking!”

Bella had also noticed how far behind she was - and she now knew that losing games would probably lead to an unpleasant, slimy surprise. So it was time to take a risk. A deep breath - and she hopped down into the largest pit, clean and full of tempting bricks.

As soon as she landed among the hunks of padded plastic, she regretted this move.

A thick, fast stream of sloppy purple gunge immediately began to spill over her head from the aperture above. She’d been trying to stay steady on this uncertain surface, but any hope of that was immediately dashed. Bella fell awkwardly onto her side, the rain of wet, slippery slime coating her flank and her juicy arse.

“Gmph-ah! Fuck, splf….”

The more she squirmed in alarm, the further down she slithered into the pit of soft bricks, now lubricated by gunge. It was a trap, good and proper, and she’d jumped right into it.

“What the f-splhhh!”

With some effort, she managed to plant her feet on the foot of the pit and stand sort-of upright, but it was barely any use - she was still encumbered by the bulky canvas-coated blocks, so slippery against her skin. And the gunge was still mercilessly raining down on her.

Penelope caught this out of the corner of her eye, and stopped in alarm, her breath catching in her chest.

Well, I won’t be doing that.

Much like the last game, this was a foregone conclusion from halfway through. Penelope simply excavated every brick she could from the smaller, cream-filled pits, as quickly as possible. Maria did a decent job of plucking some away, only two of her gunge-zones activating. All four of Beattie’s payloads were set off, leaving the runway very gunky, and she did take another minor splattering from one of them. But neither of them tested the bungee enough to risk falling back into the slimy pits behind them.

Swearing and spitting, Bella did somehow manage to drag herself out of the central gunge-pit, not even bothering to try and take any bricks with her. She sat on the plastic surface, her shoulders slumped, purple slime oozing down her curves. As soon as she’d escaped, the river of gunge from above immediately ceased.

“Fuck this fucking game…”

“Twenty seconds remaining!” cried Eris. On the other side of the wall, Beattie was readying herself for one last heave forwards - then she took a moment to assess the situation. Penelope was ahead by four blocks - and though she hadn’t been able to see Bella’s sloppy misfortune, the cursing sounds and splattery noises had clued her in to her sister’s struggles.

This game was over. She saved herself the risk of a sticky, slimy fall, and stood with her hands on her hips, waiting for the time to run out. Maria had also realised it was done and dusted, and sat down on her bum with a frustrated growl, glaring enviously at her opponent.

“Three… two… one… game!”

Penelope smiled quietly to herself, and wiped the fluffy cream off her arms. Bella, meanwhile, dragged herself sulkily to her feet, trying not to slip over.

A small ladder was placed at the side of the inflatable, and one of the studio Wenches was sent up there at Eris’s command to make the final count. She first plucked the yellow blocks off the wall, as Bella pouted in disappointment.

“One, two, three… and that’s it! Blimey, Bella, that’s some sloppy workmanship. Very sloppy at the end there, in fact!”

Penelope suppressed a giggle at Eris’s teasing, and listened happily as her bricks were counted up. 

“...five, six, seven! Penelope wins. And Bella loses. So, obviously…”

The Wench who’d been counting the bricks turned towards Bella, and with two hands, firmly shoved her into that central pit.

She gave a horrified shriek as she fell backwards. Obviously she’d been expecting some consequences for losing, but the cruel swiftness of it took her by surprise. Her juicy arse impacted the gooey surface with a damp splat - and of course, as soon as she was in, gallons more gunge began to pour in from above, its heavy purple stream sloshing right over that jiggling, heavy chest.

“Gyaaah! You fuckers, smlph…”

Bella flailed her arms helplessly, and just like before, every squirming movement only dragged her down into the pit, trapping her under the rushing torrent of lurid slop, which now splashed out in great arcing waves from her head and shoulders. Penelope had to hop backwards away from the outer splats of it, giggling with relief at avoiding this forfeit.

It was a mildly frustrating thing to hear from Beattie’s perspective - the high wall meant she couldn’t see her sister’s humiliation, even if she bounced up and down on the spot. At least I’ll get to watch the video later, though…

After thoroughly drenching Bella, the thick column of violet goo ceased. The pit was now full to the brim with slippery gunge, and the poor girl was submerged up to the shoulders, quivering in disgust and wiping off her face as best she could.

Time for the scores. “I’ll award ten points for each brick - and double the bonus points this time. So that’s 30 for Bella, and 90 for Penelope! Bloody hell, you’re racing away, little blondie, aren’t you?”

Penelope responded with a shy shrug, as the host continued, looking over to the other side of the wall. “Scores on the doors: 60 plays 150. So if it stays like this, Maria, you’ll be heading to the Mega Mucky Super Sloppy Gunk Dunk.”

She left a pause. “Oh, and guess where you’re heading right now?”

Maria’s eyes went wide, and a Spanish expletive rang through the air, as the bungee cord contracted, dragging her backwards across the plastic runway at quite a clip. In no time at all, she was tumbling backwards into the shallow slime-pit, landing awkwardly in the wet yellow goo with a loud splat.

Just as she managed to sit up, still loudly complaining, the hole above the pit began to dish out her loser’s forfeit, a gushing waterfall of lime-green gunge.

Her curses turned to helpless splutters. Gallon after gallon of shiny, opaque slime sloshed relentlessly down, right over her long raven hair, splattering over her upraised knees. She held her head in her hands - both rendered invisible under the splashy waves of goo.

Once it had finally ceased, Maria simply sat there in the slop, quietly regaining her breathing as her heart rate stilled. It had filled the pit up a fair bit, and her legs and hips were totally submerged in it, the surface sloshing about around her firm chest. Beattie had the same look of guilty delight that Penelope had enjoyed moments earlier.

“And with that,” chirped Eris, “we’re done here. Time for another break. Back in ten minutes - go grab yourselves a beer.”

---

IV: Prosecution and Defence

Just like last time, the losing ladies were helped out of their slimy predicaments, and all four contestants gathered on the studio floor. The looks between the two pairings were even more ice-cold than before, though their tempers remained contained.

Nell led them back to the showers. The two sisters paced beside each other, one of them leaving a decidedly wet and sloppy trail behind her. Quietly, so as not to rouse Nell’s ire, Beattie snuck in a quick taunt.

“Not going how you thought it would, eh, Bell-end?”

“Shut your sodding pie-hole, Sweaty Betty,” came the hissed response. “It’s not over yet…”

It was a case of rinse and repeat, quite literally. Once again, the four girls peeled off the flimsy, tangled hi-vis jackets, washed off as much slop as they could, and used the powerful all-over driers, before stepping back out in those tight, sporty bikinis.

“Last game of the first half,” said Nell, businesslike as ever. “You’ll be pleased to know that you can get a proper shower and a short break after this one.”

That did indeed sound good, to all four of them. But for the moment, it was onwards into a new room - this one just as grungy-looking, but a fair bit smaller, than the high-ceilinged arenas they’d been in so far. Eris was sitting at the other end, about thirty feet away. Flanking her seat was a pair of perspex cubicles, with some complicated apparatus above, and those tall chat-screens beside each. Two more armchairs sat empty nearby, one on each side.

After Nell drew the group to a stop, a few legs quietly quivered with nerves, amplified by childhood memories. Those were quite obviously proper gunge tanks.

“Different intro this time,” said their handler. “Eris is going to welcome back the viewers, then she’ll call you over. So hold your horses.”

From afar, they watched their mistress adjust her hair, find her camera, and - looking cool as a cucumber, as always - count backwards through the transition. They could hear her loud and clear through the studio PA.

“Hello again, goo-fiends. I enjoyed reading your comments during the break - you perverts really have no filter, huh? Although, for the record, I do agree that Penelope’s chest looks very nice covered in cream.” On hearing this, the willowy blonde felt a pang of embarrassment in her stomach, and had to stop herself glancing down at her now-clean bikini top.

“Time to welcome back our foolhardy foursome. Give them a big virtual hand, please - it’s the least you can do…”

Nell ushered them forwards, and the quartet of ladies strolled uncertainly towards the set for this game. Eris was on her feet before they got close, and was holding open the transparent, half-height door of the rightmost gunge tank, the one with blue trim around its front. There was a clear, cylindrical reservoir perched above it, containing no gunge - yet. However, the two metal pipes protruding from the wall, pointed into the overhead vat, made it clear that wouldn’t be the case for long.

“Right then! In you get please, Penelope.” It was accompanied by a welcoming gesture of the arm.

Penelope stopped in her tracks, one of the cameras sneakily capturing her reaction - a hand placed against her chest, and wide eyes.

“Uh… me?”

“That’s right. Come on blue-eyes, get in the gunge tank, we haven’t got all day.”

What other choice did she have? With a deeply pained wince, Penelope paced over to the open booth, and took a seat on the stool within. A slow bubble of artificial laughs and cheers was already sounding over the speakers.

Eris walked over to the other tank, pulled open its door, and fixed a smirking gaze at Bella.

“And on the yellow side… Bella, your seat awaits.”

Where Penelope had been nervous and meek, Bella radiated a quiet but obvious indignation on her journey into the tank. As she sat down, her face was scrunched and tight.

Her thoughts were a jumble of ire. She was supposed to be the one gunging Beattie! Yet already, she’d endured two humiliating sloppings - and now, she was in the gunge tank! Everything seemed upside-down - and for a moment, she entertained a horrible thought.

What if this was all a set-up, designed to punish her for applying in the first place? But no, surely it couldn’t be. Penelope had applied too, and if she’d lost either of the games, she’d have been… but wait, maybe Penelope’s a stooge, a paid actor…

Bella shook her head sharply, trying to dislodge the racing paranoia. No, no. This was just a cruel, sloppy gameshow, where apparently everyone was in the danger zone. She’d just have to go hell-for-leather in the rest of the games, and hope that she somehow, somehow, came out on top.

Because she really did want to gunge the fuck out of her smug little sister.

Beattie and Maria, looking noticeably cheerier than thirty seconds ago, took their places in the armchairs at the sides, facing each other, and easily able to see into the tanks.

Once again, Eris wasted no time in getting down to business. “Turnabout is fair play, so they say. At the top of the show, Penelope and Bella made all sorts of dreadful accusations about the other girls. But I’m sure they’re hardly angels either, hmm? This game’s called Splatback.”

Even the game’s title made the lasses in the tank squirm in their seats.

“I’m going to give Beattie and Maria a chance to dish the dirt on their nominators. They’ll have fifteen seconds to convince our audience - and then I’ll allow a fifteen second rebuttal from inside the tank. We’ll move onto the next pairing, then it’ll be back and forth.”

Bella was feeling particularly uncomfortable. They were sisters, after all - that meant Beattie could call on a lifetime of petty squabbles and teenage misdemeanours.

“All the while, our viewing audience will be listening - and then voting on who’s the biggest, meanest hypocrite. Their votes will be counted in the form of gunge, supplied to the overhead vats. When one of the vats is full - well, if you can’t guess what happens next, you really haven’t been paying attention.”

It was nearly time. “Maria - because Penelope’s winning, I’ll let you speak first. Whichever girl escapes their gunge tank clean will win 30 points. Ready, Maria? Got something suitably embarrassing to spill about Penelope?”

“Oh, I think so…”

“Good. Oh - before we get started - let’s have the chat on, shall we?”

The two screens flickered into life - their angle made them readable from both the gunge tanks and the comfy armchairs. Already, there was a steady stream of excited, goading comments, the watchers desperate to start voting with their slime. Penelope tried her best not to read them.

“Excellent. Maria, your first fifteen seconds starts… now!”

A steady beat and bassline began to mark out the time, as Maria levelled a wicked glare at her nervous nominator in the gunge tank. The studio lights had dimmed, but a brighter spotlight lit up Maria’s chair.

“Ha! So innocent, with the big eyes. But I think it’s all pretend, no? I think Penelope is a naughty girl. I think she has some very strange desires.”

This was all delivered slowly, with a lusty and devilish lilt. The viewers were loving it.

PENELOPE IS WELL KINKY
HORSE GIRLS AMIRITE?
JUSTICE FOR MARIA

They were voting, too - the two pipes were already pouring thick opaque slime, pink and orange, into the tank above Penelope’s head. She could hear the loud splatters of the heavy liquid against the surfaces, and she shivered a little.

A quick trio of beeps indicated that Maria’s time was up - the spotlight went off, and the interior of Penelope’s tank was lit up, which made her feel very exposed.

“Ah! I mean, that’s bullshit! She’s just making stuff up! Is that even allowed?”

“Depends if people believe her, doesn’t it?” answered Eris.

“Well they shouldn’t! She’s a liar. She just doesn’t want to get gunged, even though she totally deserves-”

Penelope’s time was up, and the microphone in her tank abruptly cut out, leaving her last words inaudible on the stream. There was no breather in the action - Beattie’s turn now.

“Hard to choose!” began Beattie, talking quickly. “How about deliberately stealing my boyfriends? She read my diary, found out who I fancied, and then tried to get off with them. Did it twice! And of course it worked, because she was older and she was the first to get big t-”

Beattie’s mic, affixed to her chair, cut out at a wonderfully opportune moment. Bella, who had been grimacing through this accusation, seemed very flustered, and a good amount of blue-green slop was getting loaded into the tank above her, in sympathy with her sister.

“God, you’re obsessed with that! It was ages ago! And you were just as bad. Remember when you lied about me snogging Mark Carpenter, just so Darren Leathy would dump me? And he did! I cried for a week!”

The siblings’ sparring was also enjoyed by the audience - though after one round of back-and-forth, Penelope’s tank was looking fuller.

LOOKS LIKE BEATTIE CAUGHT UP ON THAT FRONT
I’D SNOG BELLA ANYDAY
FUCK IT, GUNGE ‘EM BOTH

When play returned to Maria, she resumed as if she’d never been interrupted.

“In fact… I think little Penelope maybe has a crush on me, huh?”

This accusation made Penelope’s skin flush beet-red, and her hands fidgeted in her lap.

“You think I look sexy, all covered in gunge? This is your thing, isn’t it, yes? Oh, I knew you were naughty, but this is something else, Penelope!”

When it came time to rebut, Penelope had to avert her eyes from Maria’s wide, cat-like grin. “God! No I don’t fancy you, and no, this isn’t my thing. This is about justice! Justice, I tell you!” She flapped her hands as she talked, a picture of frustration, and not really convincing at all. As such, the goo above flowed slightly faster - it was well over halfway up the tank now, not that Penelope could see.

Beattie next, and she seemed to take some inspiration from her opposite number.

“That’s a good point. I mean, this is obviously a pretty kinky show. Isn’t it a bit weird to bring your sister onto something like this? Your little sister? I tell you… Freud would have a field day…”

Affronted yelps emerged from Bella’s open mouth. “What are you saying? That didn’t… that wasn’t… you’re the one that said it! I think you’re the pervert here, if anything! Hmph!”

The comments, and the slime, flowed steadily as the game entered a third round.

“I wonder what she gets up to at the club?” cooed Maria. “All that slimy mud. You do seem to fall off your horse a lot, Penelope. Do you like it? Do you go out in the woods and have a little… time to yourself?”

Maria let the last few seconds tick past, watching an infuriated Penelope bash her fists against her thighs, until finally her light came on.

“I bet you fucking do!” she wailed. “This is all projection! And besides, I only take falls because you gave me the world’s most bad-tempered horse! You’re always-”

A loud klaxon rang out, and the bright white light in Penelope’s tank suddenly changed to a sickening yellow. She screeched in alarm, and instinctively looked upwards, burying her hands in her hair, expecting a deluge of slime.

Then she heard a loud hissing beneath her, and felt something against her bare legs.

Maria hooted with laughter, clapping her hands slow and loud, as she watched the base of the tank fill up quickly with thick, pastel-pink cream, pumping in from several hidden dispensers. Penelope’s legs wriggled in discomfort, and she sat frozen, a horrified expression on her face, the anguished anticipation racing around her veins.

Within a few seconds, the sticky pink mass had fully engulfed Penelope’s lower half. And at that moment, the stopper underneath the vat above quietly slid open.

“Gyaaah!”

Penelope felt a heavy impact against the crown of her head. As the pinky-orange slime gushed down in a wide river, deflecting off her blonde hair, it made noisy splatters against the perspex of the tank. Her hands, still held nervously against her head, were instantly slathered in thick, slippery gunk that oozed between her trembling fingers.

Soon, she felt it start to flow in great, lukewarm streams down her back and shoulders. She shuddered in disgust and humiliation. Her bikini top quickly became sodden and heavy with slime. The thick foam below seemed to soak up some of the slopping, but it didn’t take long for a pool to form in her lap - the sensation made her keen quietly in embarrassment. And it was still going - there was plenty of this neon goo in the tank, and its slimy slapstick rain went on for a good ten seconds.

By the time it was empty, Penelope was slicked all over with pink and orange glop, viscous and gooey. Beneath the dripping dome that coated her hair was a sad pout, looking quietly down into the tank, still not wanting to meet her tormentor’s eyes. Hearty AI cheering ran out, and Bella gave a relieved round of applause from inside her own tank, turning for a moment to poke her tongue out at her unsuccessful sister.

Penelope’s stomach felt heavy with embarrassment. Yes, she’d been soaked with plenty of slop by Maria in the first game. But there was something particularly mortifying about this one: being trapped helplessly in the gunge tank, hearing that sudden, taunting klaxon, and getting punished like a dumb dorky loser, all the cameras trained on her.

“Looks like they believed her after all, eh Penelope? That’ll probably be why you’re covered in gunge. Oh well, hard luck! And Bella - that’s 30 points for you. Along with a little bonus too!”

Without warning, the vat of blue and green slime above Bella’s tank, about three-quarters full, pivoted on some unseen mechanism. Its mouth tipped rapidly downwards - aimed right towards Beattie’s chair.

She was taken completely by surprise, as a wave of gunge rushed in an arc through the studio air. It sloshed with a mighty explosion over her face, shoulders and chest. There was about two seconds of obscenely loud, splashy, squicky noise. And then a shocked silence.

It was broken by Bella, who let out a loud peal of glee. It really was a nice bonus, to witness her sister getting blindsided by this very mean, very sneaky gunging.

Beattie was frozen, too shocked to even squeal or jump. The chair she sat in, and the floor around it, was a brightly coloured explosion. She wiped her mouth with a palm, and took a few deep breaths, trying to control her heartbeat.

“Uh… you…”

Thoroughly slopped and entirely discombobulated, she felt the gunge slowly oozing down her red hair and her flushed body, covering her cute little tattoos, soaking into the seat below her. Eris blithely continued onwards, wrapping up the first half of the show.

“Today’s lesson: don’t gossip if you’re not prepared for the consequences! That’s the end of Part One - after the break, it’s time for our final game, and then of course, someone will be taking a trip to the Mega Mucky Super Sloppy Gunk Dunk. The scores stand at 150 to 90 - Penelope’s got the upper hand, but it’s all to play for! See you in 30 minutes, when Payback returns!”

After a cheery wave goodbye, Eris waited for confirmation that the cameras were cold, and quickly stood up from her central chair.

“Break time, girlies! I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Nell and the Wenches.”

Stretching her arms, and barely making eye contact with any of the contestants, she started to stroll away. But before leaving the set, she cast a comment over her shoulder.

“Thank Christ you won that one, Bella - I was beginning to think there’d be nothing to play for in Part Two. Nobody likes an anticlimax.”

And with that, she was away.

---

“Thoughts?”

Sally stayed quiet for a moment, carefully weighing her response.

“Pains me to say this, but it’s good. She’s good.”

Alexa nodded in agreement.

“Do you feel like she’s ripping us off?”

A shrug. “We didn’t invent the concept of messy gameshows.”

“That’s fair. Are you worried?”

Now it was Alexa’s turn to mull over an answer. “Honestly? I don’t know. Some healthy competition might be good for us.”

“Perhaps.”

There was a comfortable silence between the two of them, broken by Sally.

“We’re gonna watch the rest, right?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely. Shall I make a pot of tea?”

“Ooh, yes please. And bring the chocolate Hob Nobs.”

---

Beattie sat, dripping and slowly breathing, while the cheery Wenches started to cajole the contestants into action. She felt Bella’s mocking eyes on her as the perspex door was opened, and her frustratingly clean sister stepped out of the gunge tank.

A sudden thought gripped her. Trying not to give away her intentions, Beattie made a real show of wiping her face again, and getting up from the chair slowly and laboriously, trying to look as weary and abashed as possible. 

Then she lunged forward, arms thrust forward in a rugby tackle around Bella’s waist. The sound of her sister shrieking in alarm as she delivered a slimy bear-hug did a lot to brighten her mood.

“Yaaah! Fuck off fuck off fuck off!”

Bella wriggled and fought, the slippery gunge making every flail of her hands towards her sister go slightly off-target. The Wenches did nothing to intervene - if anything, they watched approvingly.

After Bella finally landed a fist with moderate force on her shoulder, Beattie released her grasp. She realised she was breaking into breathless laughter, standing there dripping goo onto the floor, surrendering herself to the stupidity of it all.

“Fuck’s sake, Beattie!”

Bella’s upper half was now rather well smeared in green and blue. She cursed inwardly for letting her guard down.

“Oh chill out, Ding-Dong. We’re gonna get a shower. And this whole thing was your idea. Your incredibly stupid idea.”

While this was happening, Penelope was also being released from her slimy little prison. She had no thoughts of trying the same manoeuvre - she was too deep in her own embarrassed thoughts. And besides, Maria’s smug grin felt like a forcefield to her right now.

Penelope contented herself with watching the sisterly tiff, while clearing as much gunge from her hair, face, and arms as she could. Looking downwards, the coat of sticky pink foam around her lower legs caught her eye - it looked like she was wearing those fluffy cybergoth boots from 90s club nights.

Still, though. She was well ahead on points. As long as she didn’t lose her head, she’d hopefully avoid too much more messy humiliation.

And I’ll get to dunk that arrogant bitch. Oh, please please please.

---

Nell had arrived too late to prevent the yellow team’s scuffle, but she soon calmed it down with a few withering words and businesslike instructions. The four girls followed her to the showers - a different facility this time, with the doors spaced further apart. Before they were allowed in, there were more instructions to heed.

“Like Eris said - half an hour’s break.” Nell looked down at her watch. “Well, 27 minutes now. You’ll have different outfits for the next game - they’re in the wooden drawers. You can leave the bikinis in the basket. Do take the chance to relax - after the break, we’re going straight through to the end of the show.”

It all sounded rather straightforward, though the mention of new outfits made Penelope nervous. She hoped it wouldn’t be anything too silly or too revealing.

“Back here on time, please. See you soon.”

The four contestants headed for their assigned shower rooms, leaving Nell to wait for them outside.

Beattie ran a hand through her matted hair as she surveyed the room. It was basic, but pleasant enough. There was a roomy glass shower cubicle; an armchair; a small wooden table, topped with a hairbrush and some basic cosmetics, a drawer just beneath; a plastic laundry basket; a full-length mirror; a clock on the wall; and a coat rack that held two towels and a bathrobe.

She was quite tempted to open that aforementioned drawer and sneak a peek at her next outfit, but the sensation of her gungey feet sticking slightly to the grippy plastic floor persuaded her it would be better to get clean first. So she headed towards the shower instead.

It wasn’t easy to peel off the tight bikini, laden with gunge and clinging to her squishy curves, but she managed it, and tossed both halves of the thing into the basket. Breathing a sigh of relief, she entered the cubicle and set the water running, stepping into the stream once it was hot and steaming.

Ahhh…

Outside the showers, Nell scrolled through Twitter, enjoying the peace and quiet. For about fifteen minutes, at least. It was at this point that Bella shoved open her door, and strode angrily out, dressed in her bathrobe with a towel around her hair. She was holding some kind of black and white garment aloft in her fist.

“Seriously? I’m not gonna wear this!”

The tattooed girl looked up from her chair, entirely unflappable.

“It’s the only outfit you’ve got. So, it would seem, you are gonna wear that. Or nothing, I suppose.”

“You can’t expect-”

“We do expect. You signed up for the show. So you have to play by the rules - and that includes looking the part.”

Bella stuttered in frustration, quite taken aback by the stern tone. Nell looked down at her watch again.

“Ten minutes. I suggest instead of shouting at me, you get dressed, and then cool your jets a little. Maybe do some mindfulness exercises, I dunno.”

“But this is… and if we’re running around…”

“Maybe try and run carefully? Go on now, please.”

Defeated, Bella let out a sulky sigh, turned on her heel, and trudged back into the shower room.

---

Penelope could hear Bella’s remonstrating outside. And though she wasn’t feeling brave enough to complain, she certainly agreed that the outfit was ludicrous. Looking at herself in the full-length mirror, she had to accept that any hopes she’d had of dignity or modesty were long gone.

She’d seen French Maid costumes before, but nothing that could compare to this shocking, skimpy, slutty getup.

The top barely existed at all. It was mostly just black spaghetti-straps, over the shoulders and round her bust and back. Two small triangles of black fabric sat over her nipples, each adorned with a layer of frilly white. It provided no structural support - the fact that it fastened good and tight was the only thing keeping her pert, perky breasts in place. God knows how Bella’s going to manage, she thought.

It was a similar story below. Instead of a full skirt, a teasing black garter belt hugged her hips instead, with straps reaching down to hoist up a pair of sheer black tights, topped with intricate lace. The belt was rendered more “maid-ish” by a hanging semicircle of white frilled fabric at the front, which was the only thing obscuring a clear view of her black cotton thong.

Considering the outfit’s clear intent was to titillate, Penelope was almost surprised that she’d been provided knickers at all. Small mercies. The finishing touch was a cute little tiara-style hat, which slotted into her hair on a sturdy band.

In the room next door, Maria was having a much better time. The dress that she’d been provided was surprisingly elegant, while also being daringly risqué - and she loved it.

It was made of a shimmering, baby-blue fabric. Two thin ribbons of this material cascaded down from her neck, over her shoulders and chest, widening and merging to create a figure-hugging skirt that came to an end a few inches down her muscled thighs. There was just enough tension in the straps to keep her proud, firm bust constrained. Just as Penelope had done, Maria wondered for a moment how her well-endowed opposite number would cope.

For the first time today, she’d also been provided shoes - some killer stilettos that perfectly matched the hue of the dress. I guess I won’t be bouncing around this time, she deduced. Getting messy is one thing - breaking both ankles would be quite another.

The deadline approached. None of the four contestants in their shower rooms were sitting down and relaxing - instead, they fidgeted nervously, watching the clock, touching up the simple makeup they’d been provided, fiddling with their hair or their sexy, revealing garments. Even cocksure Maria’s heart was beating a little faster now - she knew the current scores meant she was the leading candidate for a very messy dunking.

A loud whistle from outside snapped them all to attention, and the girls all pushed their doors open, stepping uncertainly into the hallway.

Beattie had been worrying about her strappy, revealing dress - but when she clapped eyes on what her older sister was wearing, she couldn’t help but give a shocked, delighted laugh. It had been a while since she’d seen all of Bella’s elaborate tattoos at once.

“Shut up!”

“Now now - let’s not get started fighting again. You’re needed on set…”

---

V: Mains and Desserts

Nell led them through another set of double doors, into the large studio that would host the final game.

The closest fixture of the set, and certainly the first thing that drew the eye, was the enormous wooden table. Wide, round, and expensive-looking, it was adorned with a white tablecloth - and on top of that, an array of huge, decadent, sloppy, creamy cakes, about a dozen in total, looking pretty on their shiny foil platters. The variety of icing colours, oozing sauces, and daintily-placed fruit segments would, in most other circumstances, be a mouth-watering delight. Here at the Slop House, they were just an indication that someone’s impending creamy obliteration would be especially colourful.

Surrounding the table was a small but lavishly-appointed set - it looked rather like a high-end restaurant, with a handsome burgundy carpet, and walls made of mahogany panelling.

There were no chairs pulled up to the table, though. The only visible seats were two fancy upholstered dining chairs, which were placed within cuboid recesses in the wooden wall. Looking upwards only made those booths seem more ominous: above each seat was a perspex funnel, its wide mouth at the bottom coning out into a much wider one at the top.

Behind this plush, posh set was some other part of the game arena - it was hard to see, but it did look a little bit like a kitchen, perhaps - there was definitely the glint of metal ventilation pipes overhead.

“Right then. Follow the Wenches - time to get in position.”

As the setup began, Bella and Penelope were soon able to breathe a sigh of relief - this time, it was their counterparts who were ushered towards the fateful cubicles, while they were led into the back.

Once there, the slutty waitresses discovered that the entire floor of their “kitchen” consisted of another white inflatable runway. Seeing this, Bella quietly grimaced, and blushed beet-red, her fears confirmed as to just how impractical this outfit might become.

At the end of the runway closest to the “dining room” there were two sets of stairs, made of padded black plastic. Six wide steps rose up on each side, leading to a vantage point right above the gunge tanks. At the other end, the runway split into two distinct hollows, which both ended with a curved wall.

Those walls each held five large, shiny metal panels around their arc. No, not panels - machines. Penelope scrutinised one of them as she approached. An enormous red button, about shoulder-height, with some kind of indicator light - currently not illuminated - above it, plus a small display screen. And then, well above head-height, a curved metal pipe, arcing downwards.

The wide mouths of all those pipes were pointed at a flat, shallow dip in the inflatable floor, marked with the image of a target, red and white concentric rings leaving little doubt about their meaning.

Just outside this circle of messy potential was Penelope’s starting position, which she was led towards. It was right at the jutting end of the separating wall - so Bella must be on the other side, she reasoned, correctly. There was another panel here, made of the same brushed metal, but instead of a huge pipe and button, it contained five rows of colourful magnetic letters - the kind you’d stick to a fridge, only larger and sturdier.

Penelope examined the phrases that the letters spelled out, eyes narrowing with puzzlement.

HE UP MY ASS
NAKED BABES
FREE BY VAG
SEDUCE A BRA
POLISH ONE NUDE COCK

On the other side, seeing the same array of phrases, Bella’s eyes lit up. Ooh, are they anagrams? I might have a chance here. She always had a good crack at the Saturday crossword, and she harboured a longstanding ambition to appear on Countdown, though she hadn’t yet got around to applying. Let’s see. What’s that first one?

Back in the dining room, Beattie and Maria’s smugness about their comparatively classy outfits hadn’t lasted long. Not only were they instructed to sit in the wooden tanks, but the Wenches quickly went about restraining them. Each girl’s wrists were firmly fastened into two leather loops in the sides of the cubicle, a little higher than their shoulders, leaving their arms raised up like the top of a corkscrew.

“Oh, I don’t like this,” moaned Beattie quietly, looking across the set and catching Maria’s eye. The Latina lady seemed a little less uncomfortable - or perhaps she was just hiding it better. Once they were both fastened in, a knee-high wooden door was closed in front of them.

Both sets of contestants were informed that Eris would be taking them live very shortly. And Bella and Penelope were each handed a large metal bucket before the Wenches departed.

After a short wait, the mistress of the Slop House emerged. She silently scanned her eyes over the set and the competitors, seemingly checking that everything was in order.

“Looks like we’re all set. Good work, Wenches. And hello again, ladies. Hope you had a nice break.”

That was all Eris offered in the way of pleasantries, before ascending to her perch on the high umpire’s chair once again. After some final checks, confirmations being passed between the control room and the studio floor, one of the Wenches signalled to Eris that they were ready to go live.

“Off we go then. In five, four, three…”

Another punky musical sting rang over the PA, and Eris made her best sultry eyes at the camera.

“Welcome back! Did you miss me?” She poked out her pierced tongue, teasing the audience. In response, their ersatz cheering rose in volume over the speakers.

“Sounds like you did! Well, I hope you can keep that excitement going. Because we’re getting to the business end now. If you thought Part One of Payback was mean, messy and madcap, then trust me - you ain’t seen nothin’ yet! Oh, it’s gonna get atrocious.”

Eris’ choice of words set toes curling across the set.

“Now, don’t get upset with me, but I have some bad news for you online deviants. I know you enjoyed voting to slop your favourites, but your little reign of terror is over. As this is the final game, I’m making it a fair fight - a straight-up showdown.”

This provided a bit of reassurance for Penelope, whose efforts in the first half had been hampered by the majority of viewers siding with Bella and Maria.

“So, your job is just to make some noise - hit those cheer and laugh buttons, and enjoy the show.” She arched a wicked eyebrow. “Can probably do that with one hand, eh?”

A wave of laughter filtered through. “That’s the spirit. Right then - the game!”

With two disparate parts to the set, there was a certain amount of cutting between shots needed for this next part, but the smart Wenches behind the cameras and on the broadcast rig were more than up to the task - capturing every nervous blush, revealing outfit, and ominous device, while Eris set the scene.

“Our glamorous girls-about-town, Beattie and Maria, have booked a fancy dinner at the hottest new joint in town - Maison Gloppé! Apparently, they offer a very exciting and unusual dining experience.”

The sight of the two nervous hotties strapped into their cubby-holes got a hearty laugh from the online crowd.

“But there are problems in the kitchen! Some naughty pot-washer has scrambled the names of all the dishes on the menu. Our waitresses, Penelope and Bella, will need to activate the food dispensers by untangling the anagrams. Once they’ve done that, then they can proceed to serve our diners an… unforgettable tasting menu.”

Eris leaned forward, looking down directly at the girls within the dining room gunge tanks. “Now you two, this might come as a surprise, but the floor beneath each of you is actually a sophisticated weighing scale.”

This definitely was a surprise, and both betanked ladies gave a confused frown. “Don’t worry - I’d never tell! But now that you’re comfortably seated, we’ve set the scales to zero. That’s because the waitress who can deliver the most food, by weight, in the next three minutes, will be our winner.”

Something about the very thought of slop being measured by weight made both girls cringe. They shifted uncomfortably in their seats, indisposed and powerless.

“I’ll give points for every dispenser the waitresses can activate, as well as a hearty bonus for the winner. And just as a little extra treat - they’ll get to serve the dessert course, too…”

A meaningful look down towards the pie-strewn table from Eris now, accompanied by more quiet moans of trepidation from within the gunge tanks.

There was nothing further to be said - it was time to decide the foursome’s final fate.

“Ready! Steady! Goo!”

As the crowd noise amped up, Penelope stared at the wall of letters, trying to jumble them in her mind. Bella, however, had been keeping half an eye on the puzzle all throughout the explanation. She began swiftly moving letters about, and within ten seconds, she’d turned HE UP MY ASS and NAKED BABES into MUSHY PEAS and BAKED BEANS, respectively.

The lights on two of the machines lit up green, with the names of the foodstuffs appearing on the small screen above. Penelope was slightly perturbed to hear the clear pinging sound that accompanied them - she’d only just figured out BAKED BEANS, and was still shifting the letters around to spell it.

For a moment, Bella considered picking up her bucket and heading into the messy mayhem. But hold on, she thought. Why get messy yet? There are points for activating them, after all…

She continued to scrutinise the board of letters. That one can’t be too difficult. Beer? Veg? Oh wait, maybe it’s gravy… aha!

Penelope, however, was so hell-bent on victory that she wasn’t thinking at her clearest, and didn’t even consider Bella’s eminently sensible, puzzle-first tactic. Trying not to bounce too hard, she loped over to the only machine she’d activated so far, the one promising to dispense the beans. She stood beside the wall, next to the large button, looking upwards, trying to judge the trajectory. It has to be aimed at the target… but will it start straight away?

She took a deep breath and slapped the button hard with her palm, answering her own question in the affirmative. An arcing stream of sloppy, lumpy red mush began to gush forth from the pipe, instantly slathering the target in front of her with slimy tomato sauce.

“Augh! Oh god, oh fuck…”

Knowing it could shut off at any moment, she shuffled forwards, thrusting her bucket out in front of her with both hands, as far as it would go.

But the pool of savoury slime was rapidly expanding as the beans showered down - and as Penelope inched forward just a little too much, her stockinged feet made contact. It made her muscles jump in shock - and that proved disastrous.

“Yuuurgh!”

Her footing was gone, her centre of gravity was all askew, and her hands were wheeling into the air, desperately trying to balance - to no avail. Penelope went down, landing on her side at the edge of the recessed hollow that the beans were pouring into.

Competitive spirit compelled her to thrust the bucket upwards towards the stream - but this was another bad idea. It just twisted her exposed body on the mucky surface, and she shuddered as she felt soft beans squish under her flank and her pert little butt.

The loud, splattering rain finally ceased, and she panted for breath, drawing herself up onto her knees.

“Blimey,” Eris taunted on the commentary. “It’s absolute chaos back there! This is no way to run a kitchen, surely!”

Penelope looked desperately into the bucket. Sitting sadly in the bottom was a pathetic amount of baked beans - barely even a tin’s worth.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Manically, she tried to scoop up some of the glop with her hands, but it was barely effective, a few more cold morsels sliding into the bucket’s mouth. “Bastard!”

She looked over at the dispenser button. It was still green. Did she only get one chance, or could she try again? Surely, surely she’d fare better a second time, now she’d fucked it up once already. She made the decision, and slithered towards the dispenser, on her knees this time. Wrinkling her nose in disgust at the smell, she avoided glancing down at herself. The mocking cheers of the AI crowd were already telling her she looked a foolish mess.

Her second attempt was better-prepared. She faced towards the target before pressing the button, still kneeling down, and activated it with a backwards slap over her head. Then she grasped the bucket firmly in two hands, and bounced forwards as quickly as she could.

The feeling of her knees sliding into cold baked beans was no more pleasant than the first time. But at least she was more in control of her momentum - and she did manage, at least, to steady the bucket under the flow (though not before getting a nasty splash against her tensed forearms).

When the dispenser’s second volley was finished, the central recess was filled with a slick of mottled red, oozing around Penelope’s lower legs, her fancy tights already soaked and heavy. But finally, she had a nice heavy bucket of gooey beans at her disposal. Now it was just a question of pouring them over that bitch.

Bella smiled to herself, almost feeling guilty, as she heard the heavy splatters and loud wails of discomfort from the other side of the set. She’d quickly solved anagrams three and four: BEEF GRAVY and BREAD SAUCE. Just the last one, and she’d already spelled out CHICKEN.

“Soup? Soup’s there. But what’s the rest?” She moved the glyphs around. “Let’s try, S-O-U-P… what’s left - aha!”

CHICKEN NOODLE SOUP was the fifth answer, and with a final ding, all of Bella’s dispensers were now activated. “Fuckin’ nailed it!”

Now I actually have to set them going, though. Ah well. It was fun while it lasted…

Emitting a steady stream of frustrated growls, Penelope had by now dragged herself to the steps that led to the funnel above Maria. She hefted herself up the first one, carefully planting the bucket to avoid spills. These wide padded platforms were much more solid than the bouncy mayhem below, to her immense relief. Slowly and carefully, she attempted to stand. When she didn’t immediately slip over, she continued deliberately upwards, carrying the bucket by its handle to keep it low.

“Looks like it’s finally dinnertime,” cooed Eris, seeing Penelope ascend. “Hungry, Maria?”

Though she was glad of the warning, Maria was still tensed and cringing - she screwed up her eyes and simply waited. Penelope, feeling a tiny burst of triumph, poured the bucket of beans into the funnel as fast as she could.

The screech that came from below was immensely satisfying. But there was more work to be done, so she turned on her heel and padded back down the slimy steps.

Beattie’s eyes went wide with shock as she watched the helpless Maria get drenched in cold, gungey baked beans, no way to dodge or defend herself. The funnel did an excellent job of delivering them right over her head, dousing her raven hair and falling, heavy and sloppy, down her shoulders, chest and back.

“Aaargh! Oh it’s cold, oh you fucking bitch! I swear…”

Unable to wipe her eyes, Maria just quietly smouldered, shivering at the feel of lumpy little legumes sliding down her bare skin, getting under the fabric of her dress.

Back in the kitchen, Bella maintained her tactical thinking - a dramatic reversal from the first two games. Let’s start with the hardest one. She carefully moved to the back of the dispenser array, next to the panel that promised beef gravy, hugely aware that her chest bounced temptingly for the viewers with every step on this inflatable.

Obviously, she didn’t love the thought of getting splattered with that stuff. But she was behind on points, and winning was the only option. She readied her bucket.

A smack of the button, and she started forwards, looking up at the rich brown stream that erupted from above. Baring her teeth, and hoping for the best, she dropped to her knees just before she reached the target, then held up the bucket, grasping it tight, shuffling forward towards the horrible splashing mess.

“Ack! Yeugh, oh my days…”

The smell was deeply, unpleasantly meaty - that unique funk that hits you when you open the fridge, of a cold food that should only ever be served hot.

“Ugh ugh ugh, please stop…!”

Bella only just managed to hang on to the bucket as it got heavier and heavier, gravy splashing out of its lip and bothering her fingers. But the rain did finally stop, and Bella took a moment to assess her situation.

Yes, for the next few minutes, she had to bounce around in a gross, slippery mire, dressed in the world’s tartiest maid outfit. But right now, she was holding a big bucket of awful gunk, ready to pour over her snooty little sister’s head.

Take the positives, eh?

With a sigh, she began to drag herself towards the stairs, mirroring Penelope’s knee-slide tactic.

Beattie had been wondering why her sister was taking so long - not that she was complaining. But the rising volume of the viewers’ cheers over the speakers clued her in, and she braced herself, anticipating that her clean state wouldn’t last much longer.

Bucket in hand, Bella reached the top of the stairs, and couldn’t resist shouting down into the funnel before she unleashed. “Hey sis! Dinnertime!”

The thick brown gravy sloshed through the tube and poured onto the blushing redhead, who immediately began to scream blue murder, as the thick texture and savoury stench assaulted her in tandem.

“Aaagh! Spluh, ugh, aaagh! No, no, no…”

A disgusted shiver ran down Beattie’s back as the cold glop splattered off her bare shoulders, and ran in great oozing globs down her body. The muck formed a grim little pool in the lap of her skirt, and its questing streams caressed the pale skin of her barely-constrained tits.

Maria raised her head a little, and aimed a sympathetic smirk at her opponent.

“So this fucking sucks, huh?”

Beattie only nodded in response, her mouth turned downwards in a sulky pout.

“Finally, both waitresses have served up some nosh!” said Eris, clearly enjoying herself. “But there’s plenty more where that came from!”

Penelope had finally unscrambled her second anagram at this point, and the dispenser for bread sauce was ready and illuminated. Having tested out a decently successful tactic, she once again knelt in front of the button before unleashing the goo, then bounded forwards as quickly as she could.

This gunge was even more awful than the first - thick and beige and sticky, like a savoury porridge. The noise of it splatting into the shallow pool of beans felt obscenely loud, and the sound of it starting to fill her sticky bucket was just as gross. She almost overbalanced, and had a worrying moment of wobbliness, but ultimately managed to keep the payload in her grasp.

Meanwhile, it was onto the mushy peas for Bella. She grimaced as she pressed the button, and jiggled towards the emerging stream of cold green mush, thrusting her bucket upwards. “Blech…”

After filling their buckets, the two waitresses - already both very smeared and sticky - reached the steps in tandem. “Another helping for both our dirty diners!” laughed Eris. “Look out below!”

Wails of displeasure echoed from the tanks, as Maria got a gloopy drenching in bread sauce, and Beattie got slathered in thick green pea-gunk. The booths already looked comically mucky, great colourful splashes marring their walls.

“Why is it cooold?” moaned Beattie, feeling thick globs of gunk fall from her hair.

“Oh dear - there must be some problem with the ovens,” replied Eris. “What a shame!”

The game was halfway through, a minute and a half left. Bella’s task felt fairly straightforward - just activate the various gunks, fill her bucket, and slop her sister. Wrinkling her nose at the increasingly unpleasant smell of her “kitchen”, she pressed the button that dispensed bread sauce.

Unfortunately, as she bounded on her knees towards the pouring stream of slop, she suddenly slipped, falling onto her front with a yelp. It wasn’t too hard to push herself back up again, but the impact had dislodged her flimsy excuse for a bikini top. She blushed at the sight of her plump knockers hanging free - but the precious gunge was still pouring!

Though it made her cringe with exposed embarrassment, she took the split-second decision to try and collect some goo, rather than fix her top straight away. The result wasn’t bad - at least half a bucketful by the time the sticky stream ceased.

Bella leaned back, away from the increasingly deep swamp of sticky foodstuffs, and parted her legs, planting the bucket between her thick thighs. With a little whimper of discomfort, she yanked the tiny top back down over her breasts, trying not to listen to the simulated wolf-whistles that were coming through the speakers.

Penelope was also feeling frustrated and embarrassed - but by her mental agility, rather than her clothing. She’d finally figured out the beef gravy one, and before setting out to collect more nasty muck, she took a moment to stare at the other two. But nothing was coming to mind. God’s sake, Penelope! It can’t be that difficult!

Her opponent was now hefting her third bucket of goop up the stairs, very carefully, wary of any further wardrobe malfunctions. Here we go…

She broke into a sly smile on hearing Beattie’s indignant spluttering, as the bread sauce poured into the tank. This game had been pretty horrible so far, but at least it gave her these satisfying moments of petty revenge.

On the other side, Penelope managed to collect a decent amount of cold, thick gravy from her machine, without falling or getting too splattered. Her confidence was starting to build now, and she shuffled quickly round the side of the sloppy target pit, towards the stairs.

Unfortunately, all this sticky mayhem had also taken a toll on her stringy top, and suddenly, she felt it ride upwards slightly, exposing her dainty, firm nipples. “Eep!”

In a panic, she placed the bucket down in front of her, freeing her hands to adjust the top - but this bouncy surface was a terrible place to do that, and the pail immediately toppled over, spilling a great slick of cold gravy onto the white canvas.

“No! Oh, you bugger!”

By the time she’d righted the bucket, at least half of its contents had sloshed out - and her boobs remained on show. The whole situation was making her blush a deep crimson.

Finally, she managed to reach the stairs, and balance the bucket, now much lighter, on the first step. Huffing in frustration, she adjusted the straps of her top, and covered her nipples again. Then she sulkily made her way up the steps, so that she could pour a rather disappointing splatter of gravy over Maria. Better than nothing, and there was a satisfying squeal from below - but she was really starting to worry about losing this game now.

Bella’s next trip to the machines was less eventful for the viewers than her last. A golden stream of chicken noodle soup sloshed into her bucket, and once it was finished, she carefully started out towards her sister’s gunge tank.

“Thirty seconds left!” cried Eris. “Feeding time’s nearly over!”

“Fuck!” muttered Penelope, still blanking on her final two anagrams. And now there was no time to stand and stare at the board. She tried to figure out which gloopy foodstuff might be the heaviest of the three available to her, and settled on the bread sauce. She had to get one last big bucket of the stuff, and hope that was enough.

As she mounted the steps, Bella was also thinking about the time left. She hurriedly sloshed the soup into the funnel, and headed down the steps, not even waiting to enjoy Beattie’s squeaky cries of horror.

Those cries were rather amplified this time. As the cold liquid broth, filled with slippery noodles, washed over the helpless girl, she felt the slimy, wet straps of her dress sliding inwards, nestling between her full, heavy breasts - which spilled outwards, gently bobbing under gravity. “Nooo! Help, please… this isn’t… spluh!”

“Blimey,” said Eris. “Did somebody order a couple of large melons? Wonder how much they weigh…”

Beattie just spluttered in response, overwhelmed and humiliated.

Time continued to tick away. Making the most of the seconds she had left, Penelope hit the bread sauce button, then bolted forwards as quickly as she could, her knees sliding into the commingled muck that swamped the target, just so she could capture as much of this horrible gunge as possible. “Come on, please please please…”

Eris gave a ten-second warning just as Bella had reached the button to activate her final dispenser, the baked beans. Again, she made a quick mental calculation - and realised there was no way to achieve her goal by being measured and cautious.

She slammed the button, and launched herself forward, bouncing heavily down onto her knees, her entire focus on holding the bucket steady. She felt her top get dislodged again, her gorgeous sticky tits bouncing freely as she collected the tomatoey gloop.

“Five!” shouted Eris.

The bucket wasn’t quite full, but there was no time - she shifted her weight and slid forward as fast as she could towards the steps.

“Four!”

Penelope had reached the top, and unleashed a final sticky bread-sauce gunging over the furious Maria, who was left soaked in a dome of beige goo, squirming and swearing.

“Three!”

Bella scrambled desperately up the steps, a slimy bouncy mess.

“Two!”

She reached the top, and fell forward, hurling one last big slosh of goo into the funnel.

“One!”

Down in the tank, Beattie squealed, feeling cold tomato sauce and squishy beans flow down her hair and shoulders, then over her exposed breasts, the liquid caress hardening her nipples, despite her wailing embarrassment.

“Time’s up! Waitresses, lay down your buckets!”

Penelope gave a deep sigh, her shoulders slumping, as she knelt on the top step. Bella was flat on her front, boobs squished against the canvas, panting with exertion and wiping her mucky face.

“Lordy lord. I have to say, girls, you really are messy eaters. Perhaps we should have given you bibs. And that’s before we even get to the standard of service!”

The joke wasn’t much appreciated by any of the slathered, smelly girls, but the viewers at home responded by generating a hearty fake laugh.

“Oh well. Let’s see how our waitresses did, shall we?”

Eris clicked her fingers, and two Wenches stepped out onto the dining room set, standing at opposite sides of the table. Both punky girls were holding some kind of tablet, which they lifted over their heads, like a ring-girl at a boxing match. On both of the screens - which were double-sided, so Eris could see the result too - a counter read 0.0kg.

“Activate the scales!”

All four contestants watched intently, as the weight indicators began to tick upwards, accompanied by a tense, gameshowy rumble from the speakers.

They both reached 10 kilograms, then 20, then 30. Just to add to the drama, the count seemed to get slower as it rose higher. 35.

The screen on the blue team’s side of the set hit 39.6kg, and then stopped counting, the figure turning red. Penelope let out an anguished cry of frustration - and Bella a laugh of triumph. The figure on her screen ticked up to 51.0kg, and then stopped as well, turning victory-green. A sarcastically naff little fanfare parped out from the speakers. In her tank, Maria looked relieved - while Beattie looked utterly horrified.

Does that mean…? But Penelope was quite far ahead… 

“We have a winner! Congratulations Bella!”

The sticky redhead had, by this time, managed to drag herself upwards and fix her top. An exhausted but delighted grin adorned her smeared face.

“Penelope, though. How disappointing.”

Her eyes wide and sad, the losing girl pouted.

“Never mind though. You’ll be happy to learn there is a nice staff benefit to working at Maison Gloppé.”

Now she frowned. Staff benefit?

“At the end of your shift, you get a free meal! Wenches - service please!”

“What? No! Nooo!”

In a flash, Penelope was accosted by two of the Wenches, who had quietly snuck up behind her. They grabbed her shoulders, span her round, and began to forcibly march her down the stairs.

She knew it wouldn’t be much use to struggle - but she couldn’t stop herself loudly objecting. “Don’t, please, don’t!”

A few more steps forward, and then a mighty shove. The laughing Wenches propelled Penelope forwards and downwards, towards the shallow pit that she’d just spent three minutes filling with various disgusting slops.

She took a full, squelchy faceplant into the murky mire, accompanied by a chorus of rapturous, digitised laughter. Bella watched from the top step, aghast, giggling a little but also feeling dreadfully sorry for the poor girl.

Spluttering and spitting, Penelope levered herself up on her arms, gagging at the taste of the cold, salty muck. Her stupid top had come loose again, and her firm breasts were fully slicked with goopy, barely-edible slop. Desperately, she drew herself to her knees and pawed the stuff away from her face.

Just as she managed to take a breath, the loud hoot of a klaxon sent a jolt of tension through her muscles. All of the lights on the dispensers surrounding her flashed red at once.

“Nooo-ooo!”

Five colourful streams of thick, savoury gunge arced down towards her, meeting in a riotous, exploding splatter over her cowering head.

It was a spectacular sight to witness, and an utterly mortifying one to experience. Penelope’s brain turned somersaults, as gallon after gallon of lumpy, sticky, cold slime rained down on her from all directions, slathering every inch of her barely-protected body. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders wiggling in embarrassment.

When the dispensers finally stopped pouring, Penelope just knelt there, soft whimpers emerging from behind her upraised hands. Gunge oozed down her bare skin into the pit, which had filled up to hug her lower thighs. More AI laughter echoed in her ears.

“Nnnh… ah… what…”

She finally wiped her face, revealing a miserable frown, quiet breaths escaping in short bursts.

“Tasty!” shouted Eris, puncturing the atmosphere. “Let’s leave her to marinate for a while. Because Bella - you’ve still got work to do! Come on down, if you please.”

The redhead gave a last, sympathetic glance back towards her poor rival. But she remembered what came next, and it made her tremendously excited. She walked down the stairs, then bounced carefully out of the inflatable kitchen, coming around the side of the set into the dining room. It was a relief to be on a sturdy floor again.

Catching sight of her sister, she couldn’t help but titter gleefully. Slathered in goo, tits hanging out, arms strapped fast to the tank. Total humiliation, and yet more to come. The best thing about it, though, was Beattie’s quiet, angry glare. Bella drank it in like a fine wine, returning the smuggest, bitchiest smirk she possibly could.

“Tell me, Bella. How would you like to throw a load of huge, creamy cakes at your sister’s face?”

“Heh heh heh. I’d like that very much, Eris.”

“In that case, be my guest. Time for dessert!”

Grinning like a loon, and taunting Beattie with her eyes, she stepped over to the table, and made a real show of picking out her first cake. “Whaddya think, sis? Any particular flavour you fancy?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Hmm. I don’t think we have ‘go fuck yourself’ on the menu, sorry! Let’s just go with this one.”

Bella carefully slid the foil tin onto one palm, and giggled, feeling the oozy mass of chocolate cream wobble as it moved. It was drizzled with thick, dark chocolate syrup.

She slowly waltzed over to the tank, and leaned in, brandishing the cake right under her sister’s nose. Beattie just closed her eyes and silently smouldered.

“So pretty!” cooed Bella. “A tasty treat for my little sis who I love sooo much. Ready, Bee?”

There was no response, Beattie refusing to rise to the taunts. She just wanted this over with.

“Here comes the aeroplane. Open wide!”

With a flourish of her arm, Bella hurled the cake at her sister’s wincing face from close range. It exploded, with a gorgeous squishy noise, against Beattie’s cheeks, the foil plate falling cleanly away onto the tank’s floor. A sticky mass of brown and white rendered Beattie’s eyes and mouth invisible - just the tip of her button nose protruding through.

She opened her mouth, and spat. “Guhhh!”

The virtual audience laughed and applauded, and Bella clapped delightedly. Eris, though, gave her a very gentle warning.

“Alright Bella. I do like watching a girl squirm, but if you take that long with every cake, we’ll be here all night.”

Bella gave a shrug and a nod in reply. “Fair enough. Splat her a bit faster? Not a problem.”

In the tank, Beattie felt thick globs of cream slowly falling away from her face. They quietly dotted onto her ample boobs, and the sodden lap of her dress. The cream, at least, was much less horrible than the savoury goo from before, but the scent of them both mixed together was still pretty rank. Fearing another sudden caking, she tried to blink open her eyes…

…and immediately had to close them, as another fat, sloppy payload rushed towards her face, splurging its fruity cream out in great gouts behind her head. Then another, hurled with girlish glee, Bella absolutely having the time of her life.

There was a short pause. Beattie exhaled through her nose, snorting cream away. One more fat pie, something banana-flavoured, was hurled against her cringing face. Then she let out a horrified gasp, as she felt cold, slimy cream slapping hard against her left breast.

“What the fuck, you psycho! Leave my tits alone!”

“Nah, don’t reckon I will!”

“I’m gonna kill- mmmf…!”

Beattie was interrupted by her other boob getting a creamy splat, making her chest jiggle and her hips shudder. Her entire upper half was a fluffy, slapstick disaster zone now, but Bella wasn’t done.

“How about that slutty little dress? Far too clean for my liking!”

“You already covered it in- yeuch!”

Two more gloppy, semi-liquid cakes flew into the tank - one smashing against her belly, the other against her barely-protected thighs. The once-yellow fabric of the dress was now a smeared paint-pallette, heavy on the white.

“You know what? I think I like the classic way the best.”

There were five cakes left on the table, and one by one, Bella splattered them with joyful enthusiasm into her sister’s spluttering, outraged face. Eris was quietly impressed. This girl’s a natural. Maybe I’ll get her flinging pies again some other time.

“What a feast! Positively bacchanalian. Maison Gloppé is now closed for the evening. But the fun’s not done - we’ve still got to tot up those final scores.”

Eris said the next part slowly and deliberately. “Now, girls. In a moment, I’m going to gather you all together for the big announcement. And I’m sure emotions might be… running high, as it were. But do remember, we are streaming live. So if any of you punch, strangle, or otherwise assault each other, there will be very clear video evidence.”

Penelope, kneeling sadly in the stinky glop, barely felt like she had the energy to swat a fly. Beattie, meanwhile, made a quiet resolution. She’d play nice for now, and strangle her bastard sister after the show.

---

VI: Champs and Chumps

In a change from the previous games, the stream viewers got to see the aftermath this time. Bella, still rather giggly and excited despite her smearing of salty goo, was guided out of the dining room set, towards a fairly ordinary-looking part of the studio. Just a brick wall behind her, but the area was lit with the same professional care as the other parts. “Wait there, if you please.”

The team of Wenches were mostly occupied with helping the less fortunate girls back onto their feet. Penelope was finally allowed to drag herself out of the swamp, and off the inflatable surface of the kitchen.

Thank Christ, she thought, as she finally stood on a hard surface. If I never see a bouncy castle again, it’ll be too soon. Even with that small relief, she had to endure the indignity of walking towards whatever came next, dripping a wake of awful muck behind her all the while.

Beattie and Maria were carefully unstrapped from the walls of their tanks. Maria shook her arms off, waking her muscles up. She’d been rather irate a few minutes ago - but half-hearing the noises Penelope made as something awful happened to her, and then seeing the cruel cake-fest that she’d avoided, had both lightened her mood somewhat.

She looked into Beattie’s gunge tank as she passed. The poor humiliated girl didn’t look too keen to stand up, even after her arms were released from their suspension. Maria glanced sideways at the Wenches, conveying something subtle. Getting her drift, they stepped back.

“Hey babe,” said Maria, placing a hand on Beattie’s shoulder. “Unlucky, unlucky. C’mon - someone needs a hug.”

Beattie dragged her palms down her face, a snow-plough that dislodged huge splats of sweet fluff into her lap. But she appreciated the moment of kindness, and looked up with thankful eyes. “Uh, gimme a moment.”

She did the same for her chest, then attempted to draw the unruly straps of the dress back over her boobs, preserving some tiny bit of dignity. To her surprise, it just about worked. She tried to stand, weary and wobbly - it was a very unfortunate moment to be wearing heels. Maria took her hand, steadied her ascent, and then guided her into a sticky hug. They exchanged reassuring words, bonded slightly by their recent “dining” experience.

“Only a game, hey?” said Maria. “And we still don’t know who won. Don’t worry.”

“I am worried.”

“Ha! Yeah. So am I. Good luck.”

“Thanks. You too.”

The foursome were finally gathered together, with Nell close at hand to stamp out any unruly behaviour - though honestly, most of the contestants were too sticky and tired-out to start any fuss. Eris followed, and addressed the contestants from a safe distance, cameras still rolling.

“Bloody hell, get a load of you lot. Not looking very presentable for the moment of truth.”

“Hardly our fault!” complained Beattie.

“True enough. But I’m afraid we don’t have time for a full shower break right now. Wenches - the hoses, please.”

Seemingly from nowhere, four of Eris’ assistants were suddenly brandishing rubber hosepipes, tipped with spray-nozzles, which trailed away behind them into a water supply somewhere.

They unleashed without warning, and the mood among the girls instantly shifted from sulky to outraged, as they were assaulted by pressurised jets of cold, clear water.

A chorus of screams filled the air. The Wenches made sure to surround them, leaving nowhere to turn away from the chilly blasts for any of the poor ladies. Their delicate outfits were once again distressed, flushed breasts spilling out as they squirmed and cowered.

It was a thorough job. Once they’d been hosed down, the girls stood breathless and open-mouthed, dripping wet. A huge pool of watery slop around their feet quietly trickled away into drains in the floor. They exchanged glances of disbelief - for the first time, everyone had got the same rough treatment from Eris, and it almost felt like there was a little solidarity in the air, even if that might not last long.

“If you’ve finished whining,” the host began, “I can actually tell you the final scores.”

The hot studio lights at least took some of the cold-water chill out of the contestants’ muscles, as they stood in a line, facing the cameras. Even after hurriedly fixing their outfits, they were all still bedraggled, damp, and nervous.

“Before our final game, Penelope was in the lead. Has Bella done enough to catch up? Well, the ginger smartypants completed all the anagrams, and activated five dispensers - so that’s 50 points. Dumb blonde over here,” said Eris, cruelly gesturing towards Penelope, “only got 30.”

After frowning at the insult, Penelope tried to do some mental maths. That’s cut the deficit to 40, but Eris did mention bonus points, and it’s the last game… oh, please no…

“And for claiming the overall win, Bella gets a tasty 50-point bonus!”

“Aaagh!” Penelope’s sharp cry of anguish turned everyone’s head.

“Wow. You really were keeping a close eye on the scores. Way to ruin the surprise.”

Bella and Maria’s faces were breaking into broad smiles, but they didn’t seem ready to celebrate until it was confirmed. Beattie bowed her head, looking down at the floor.

“But yeah, she’s right. Bella wins, 190 to 180!”

The AI crowd went suitably nuts, as the victors thrust their fists into the air triumphantly, instantly beginning to poke fun at their unfortunate counterparts.

“That’s not fair!” protested Penelope among the clamour. “You never said it was 50 points! Why didn’t I get that much for the other games? You’re just making this up!”

Her reaction only seemed to make Eris more delighted. “Er - this is my Slop House, little madam, and I can be as unfair as I want! But FYI, the scoring is actually decided beforehand. I can show you the Google Doc, if it’ll shut you up.”

Penelope just balled her fists in response, and glared daggers, wincing as she heard Maria humming some jaunty little tune in celebration.

Eris continued to twist the knife, turning towards the other team this time. “Oh Beeea-tiiie… Beattie sweetie… you know what this means, don’t you?”

The flushed and flustered redhead lifted her face, just enough to catch Eris’ eye. She gave a slow, sad nod, while her sister cackled at the teasing.

“That’s right! You’ll be taking a trip to the Mega Mucky Super Sloppy Gunk Dunk! Are you looking forward to it?”

Beattie shook her head.

“Correct! It’s gonna be horrible and humiliating! Ha ha ha! Oh, I love my job. First, though, you two will actually need to go and tidy yourselves up a bit - it’s the grand finale, after all. Wenches - take them away, please.”

The two sisters were led off-set, one skipping, one skulking. Eris turned her attention towards the blue team.

“Penelope. Oh dear. Fell at the final hurdle, there. Disappointed?”

Her response was quiet and muttered. “Yeah, kinda.”

“And Maria. You’ve escaped a trip to the Mega Mucky Super Sloppy Gunk Dunk. How does that feel?”

“So good. Oh, it feels fantastic.”

“No hard feelings, then? Not annoyed that Penelope brought you here, slandered your good name, tried to get you gunged, and ultimately… wasted your valuable time?”

Eris was glaring into Maria’s eyes, suggestively, hoping she’d pick up the hint. Penelope could see this going on, and her stomach started to churn.

“Hmmm. She did do all that, it’s true. Not very nice.”

“Not very nice at all. I think maybe there should be consequences, don’t you?”

Penelope keened quietly. “Please… I already… you already…”

The mistress of the house was having none of it. “Ahem! Happy to dish it out but not take it, eh? Well, I know what might fix that attitude. Come on - this way!”

Accompanied by plenty of AI cheering, a terrified Penelope was cajoled onwards through the studio by four Wenches, Eris and Maria following in her wake. Her heart was beating fast, and she was acutely aware she was still in that shockingly slutty maid outfit. An opportunity to change clothes seemed very unlikely.

What she saw through the next set of doors made her jaw drop.

This small room was ostentatiously grimy-looking, even more so than the rest of the Slop House. The lighting was dim, the brick walls looked dank and crumbling, and the floor under her stockinged soles felt like cold concrete.

There were two trestle tables standing against the back wall. Each of them held an array of worrying-looking stuff - buckets, pies, other things that Penelope couldn’t quite make out. On the wall above the left-hand table, drawing her eyes, was a neon sign. The bright blue tubing was bent into a simple symbol - the outline of a head and shoulders, with a round halo adorning it. Above the right-hand table was something similar - only bright red, with horns protruding from the head instead of a halo.

Naughty and nice, thought Penelope.

Much more worryingly, there was another flat surface between them. It wouldn’t be much use as a dinner table, though. Firstly, the shape was unwieldy - a large black wooden X. And secondly, there were the brass manacles at the end of each extremity.

No, no no no…

As a final touch, something was hanging from the rafters above the black cross. A large, scuzzy-looking cauldron held up by metal chains, similar in size to a small hot-tub. One more neon sign was affixed to the front of it - a question mark, in bright green.

Penelope had barely a couple of seconds to take this all in.

“What do we do with naughty girls?” said Eris with relish. “That’s right! We gunge ‘em in the dungeon! Strap her in, Wenches…”

The poor blonde shrieked in trepidation as she was manhandled towards the cross. She resisted slightly, not knowing what else to do, but the Wenches’ grip was firm, and she was soon bundled onto the flat surface, her limbs forcefully splayed into the appropriate positions. With four firm clicks, the manacles closed tightly around her wrists and ankles. She whimpered, helpless and scared.

“So, Maria,” began Eris, looking at her watch. “In about… thirteen minutes, Beattie’s gonna get it good. Wanna watch that happen?”

“Aha! Yes, definitely.”

“Thought so. In that case, let’s put ten minutes on the clock.”

Eris stepped towards a tattered-looking analogue timepiece on the side wall, whose hands were all vertical, pointing towards the twelve. She began to turn a small crank in its flank. The slim second hand spun round quickly, with the minute hand following gradually, until the dial showed ten minutes past the hour. Once Eris released the dial, the clock began to tick backwards, counting down.

Before Eris could explain further, she was interrupted by another nervous wail from Penelope. The surface she was splayed on had been raised upwards at an angle by a series of sliding poles beneath the surface, slotted into place by the Wenches. She was now resting at a diagonal, about 45 degrees, and she could feel the pull of gravity against her shackled wrists.

“Prissy Penelope in the perfect perilous position,” said Eris, making Maria giggle. “You’ve got ten minutes, Maria - I’ll leave you to it. She’s all yours.”

It took a moment for the ramifications of those words to sink in. But once they did, Maria beamed with naughty excitement.

“Okay!”

“See you at the finale, then. Oh, and in case you hadn’t figured it out - this lever here is for…”

Eris glanced upwards at the vat, meaningfully, as she began to walk away. Maria nodded; Penelope winced.

And then there were two - well, besides the Wenches who were quietly capturing everything on camera. Maria turned towards her helpless victim, eyes sparkling.

“Oh, I’m going to enjoy this.”

There was a tremendously sexy swagger to her gait, as she drew closer to the squirming girl on the cross, blue high heels clicking on the floor.

“Now. What would you like me to start with? Nice… or nasty?”

Penelope stayed silent - she wasn’t going to play along. She would just have to grit her teeth, and endure.

“Fine. I’ll choose, then. I think we start with nasty. Get it over with, hmmm? Now, what’s this?”

Maria moved towards the table lit by the red neon sign, and peered into the large tin bucket that rested on it. Inside was something thick, sludgy and grey-brown. She pressed one lithe finger into its surface, and brought it to her nose for a sniff.

“Oh look - it’s your favourite, Penelope! Mud!”

The only response Maria received was a quiet quivering noise. She grabbed the pail by its handle, and approached her prey. Without further warning, she plunged her hand into the bucket, and scooped up a fat dollop of the cold, sticky matter.

Penelope gasped as she felt Maria’s hand splatter against her right cheek, then smear the cool mud down her face, over her neck, and onto her shoulder.

“Enough for a good coating…”

She slathered another helping over the bare skin of Penelope’s right arm, sliding it up to her bound wrist. And then another, slapped rudely onto the belly, and painted over her right flank.

Penelope felt her toes curl in embarrassment as Maria worked quickly to cover her in the damp, earthy gunge. An enthusiastic slopping of her thighs, accompanied by some shameless squeezing, was particularly mortifying. She tried her best to stay silent, and not give Maria the satisfaction, but she couldn’t help little staccato breaths emerging from time to time.

Maria finished off by slathering the mud over Penelope’s shiny black stockings, from knees to feet - and then, with the very last clump in the bucket, splattering her in the chest, massaging the gunk into the upper curves of her firm breasts. Penelope shivered.

There was plenty more to come. Maria cooed as she picked up a clear plastic jug, holding it up in front of Penelope’s face. She shook the jug, watching its contents jiggle.

“How do you like your eggs, Penelope?”

“Ugh! No…”

“Yes. And I have an egg-cellent idea.”

When she felt Maria tugging at the frilly lace that topped her left stocking, Penelope let out a moan of despair. And then there it was - the slippery, liquid sensation of several egg yolks, and a good slosh of white, pouring into the stocking and slithering down her trembling leg.

Once she’d emptied half of the jug’s contents, Maria held the stocking open for a long moment - then let the band snap back into place. Penelope yelped - the garment squeezed the egg yolks, and she felt some of them breaking, splatting into liquid form against her skin. A few of them remained, however, gross slimy orbs pooling around her restrained ankle.

Unsurprisingly, Maria repeated the process with Penelope’s right stocking - it was every bit as unpleasant the second time. Though she was trying not to meet Maria’s eye, Penelope did sneak a glance to check if the jug was now empty - when she saw it was, she gave a quiet sigh of relief.

There was another pause, as something small on the table caught Maria’s eye.“Madre mia. What are these?”

Every word out of Maria’s mouth only made Penelope squirm more. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to calm her breathing.

“Oh, I think I understand! That is exciting.”

Penelope felt strong hands tugging at the straps of her skimpy maid’s top, yanking it upwards and exposing her breasts. She felt herself flush deeply.

Maria was delighted to discover the sight of two extremely firm, sensitive, pink nipples. “Very nice. Looks like you’re ready for these.”

“For what…?” she gasped quietly, unable to help herself. And then she felt a steady pressure, squeezing her left nipple. “Unh! What are you…”

“I don’t know why these are on the nasty table,” said Maria, while she affixed the second small clamp onto Penelope’s other breast. “I think these are fun.”

The pinching sensation - insistent, though not overly painful - sent blood rushing to Penelope’s chest, and her pulse quickened while Maria re-armed herself.

“We’ve got some pies here too. They look tasty.”

She lifted one of the three foil trays, and held it close to her face, looking down into the mound of white goo that it contained.

“Yeuch! But they don’t smell tasty!”

Standing by Penelope’s waist, she lifted the pie into position. The bound girl simply scrunched up her face and waited.

“You know, I almost feel sorry.”

There was a tremendous wet squish, and Penelope felt a riot of splurge envelop her face. Every muscle in her body tensed, and she hurriedly snorted air from her nose, trying to breathe. The smell hit her right away, and she gagged. It was rich, funky, tangy. But her brain was too addled to identify its exact makeup - cottage cheese and mayonnaise.

Gloop oozed down her cheeks, splatting quietly onto her shoulders and the top of her chest.

Maria didn’t give a verbal warning for the second one, and Penelope twitched in shock as it splattered into her face, eyes still firmly shut. Then a third, just making the facial coating so much more humiliatingly thick and sloppy.

She prayed to high heaven that was the last of these gross flans - she thought she remembered three pies on each table, but she could have been wrong.

To her immense relief, she could hear Maria’s high-heeled footsteps clacking away in front of her, sauntering over to the “nice” table. They were followed by a deep, raunchy laugh. And then a quiet, steady thrumming noise.

The hum got louder, as did Maria’s filthy giggles. Suddenly, Penelope felt something against her ear. Something firm, and insistently buzzing. It set her heart pounding like a techno beat, and she gasped, spitting out creamy, savoury goop as she did so.

Maria slid the massage wand down to the neck, applying a firm pressure. She leaned in close, and whispered in Penelope’s ear.

“You’re going to cum soon, aren’t you, Penelope?”

The blonde girl yelped in shock, affronted. “Gnh! No way!”

“Oh, I think you are. Because you’re a kinky little slut. And you love this humiliation.”

“Fuh! Fuck… fuck you…”

Maria dragged the wand lower, tracing lazy circles on Penelope’s shoulder.

“Oh. you think you’re good at hiding it. But it’s really so very obvious.”

The wand travelled between her bare breasts, which rose and fell with her frantic, flustered breathing.

“And in just a moment… when I reach into your little knickers…”

“Nnnh!”

“I know for sure what I’ll find.”

Maria lifted the vibrator from Penelope’s skin, shutting it off, and placed her right palm against her prisoner’s belly. The overwhelmed, whimpering blonde didn’t say a word as she felt Maria’s fingers slip into the waistband of her garter belt and underwear.

When she felt Penelope’s soft bush, heavy with the musky dew of arousal, Maria smiled. She slid her hand out, having very much proved her point.

“I knew I shouldn’t feel too sorry for you.”

Maria placed the wand on the table, leaving her hands free to claim more of the messy spoils it held. She decided on another jug, this one gleaming golden in the low studio light.

Much of the cheesy white gunge had fallen away from Penelope’s face by now, but she still held her eyes closed, hearing Maria’s deliberate movements. It was only now that she realised there was no jeering crowd noise coming over the speakers - though she knew they would still be watching, of course. The thought of it sent an electric current down her spine.

Maria had tasted the jug’s contents with a dab on her finger, and she’d found a suitable target.

“You have very nice tits, you know. But I think this will make them even nicer.”

Penelope felt a warm, slow caress against the lower curve of her left breast, and moaned softly.

Holding the jug aloft, Maria poured a steady, gentle stream of golden honey all over Penelope’s flushed chest. The assertive squeeze of the nipple clamps, paired with the sweet sticky massage of the honey, made the trapped beauty positively purr with pleasure. Her thoughts raced, and while this gungey domination left her feeling deeply mortified, there was an edge of relief to it - after Maria’s words, she knew there was no point trying to hide her arousal, her kinky secret, any longer.

There was another large tin pail on this table, and Maria carefully lifted it by the handle, before resting a hand underneath it, bringing it up to her face and verifying its contents.

“Ha! I will never understand you British people’s obsession with this stuff. But it’ll be useful for now, I guess…”

When she felt the first warm, damp splat of custard against her blonde hair, Penelope let out a short gasp. Another small gungey impact followed, and another, Maria tantalising her. And then suddenly, it was cascading over her head in a thick, sloppy rush. Custard slicked over her face in a gooey sheet, leading to some terribly undignified blabbering, spluttering sounds as she tried to ensure she could breathe.

The feeling of the balmy river oozing down her almost-bare body was quite incredible.

With her custard-bucket now emptied, Maria glanced at the clock - three minutes left, which was much less than she’d expected. Wow. Time really does fly when you’re having fun. And now, it was time to make those three minutes count.

Enjoying the soundtrack of squelchy noises and soft moans coming from the restraining cross, she picked up and activated the vibrating wand again. The sound of its thrumming made Penelope twitch in anticipation once more.

Maria was able to hold the device in one hand, while also carefully scooping up the tray of a large cream pie, one of the final bits of ammunition she had available.

“I thought Jemma was a handful,” she began, positioning herself. “But you have to be the most troublesome, disobedient, disrespectful girl at the club, Penelope.”

“Ngh!”

“Say sorry.”

“I’m s-”

The fat cream pie smashed into Penelope’s face, rich dairy filling her open mouth. And just after its impact, she felt the teasing buzz of the wand against her belly again. It moved downwards as she gasped and spat, tracing against the line of her garter belt.

A quiet few seconds, while Maria re-armed herself.

“Say sorry.”

“Uh, I said-”

Penelope’s face was assailed again, sweet fluffy whipped cream exploding against her cheeks. Then a buzzing against her inner thigh, absolutely enthralling. Another short pause.

“Say sorry.”

“Agh! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Penelope gasped, amazed that she had been allowed to get the words out. And she gasped again, feeling firm pressure from the vibrator against the front of her knickers for a few long seconds.

“Apology accepted.”

Maria splattered the last pie into Penelope’s panting face. She shut off the toy, and stood for a moment, looking down at her handiwork. The petite blonde’s trembling body was so satisfyingly filthy, smeared and sploshed with all manner of muck.

“But that doesn’t mean we’re done here. You know that, don’t you?”

Penelope murmured a quiet “mm-hmm,” very aware that she wouldn’t escape being covered in whatever slop was lurking in the giant vat above.

Before that, however, Maria had one more treat for her. The cream pies on the ‘nice’ table were expended, but that still left their bigger, badder cousin. A black forest gateau sat in wait, looking utterly delicious. Oozy and boozy, thick with liquid cream, rich chocolate ganache, and sticky cherry liqueur sauce.

Picking up its tray carefully, Maria indulged in a little more teasing, bringing the gateau up to Penelope’s face. “Look what I’ve got.”

Blinking her eyes open, Penelope couldn’t stop herself letting out an excited moan.

“And I know just the place for it.”

Maria moved around the cross from Penelope’s side, and stood between her splayed legs. When Penelope felt the waistbands of her garter belt and underwear being firmly pulled away from her waist, she softly cried out. “Oh…!”

Keeping one eye on the clock, Maria kept every movement slow, drawing out the tension. She angled the cake, pressing one gooey edge of it into Penelope’s belly. And then she pressed it forwards, and downwards, shoving as much of the cakey goo as she possibly could into Penelope’s knickers. The resulting succession of whimpers and groans from above was music to her ears.

There wasn’t a lot of containing fabric in the skimpy garment, so a good proportion of the chocolatey mush slid straight out, sticking to Penelope’s quivering thighs.

Still holding both waistbands open, Maria set the wand buzzing once again. She angled it downwards, and set the head against Penelope’s skin, just below her belly button. Then she began to move it lower.

The slow movement of the vibrator, into the sticky cake, towards her aching, hungry pussy, made Penelope shiver with enthralled anticipation, barely able to contain herself. “Nuhh… oh Maria, oh my God…”

Her moans intensified as the head of the wand came to rest over her firm, twitching clit. Maria carefully watched Penelope’s face, and listened to her gasps, to judge when she had the position just right. Gradually, she released the pressure in the waistbands, until they were tight again - pressing against the handle of the vibrator, and holding its thrumming tip firmly inside Penelope’s gateau-filled knickers.

“Oh my… fff-uh, gnnn-hhh… ahh…”

The bound girl’s head was swimming, a heady mix of exhibitionist thrill and submissive humiliation. As the toy pulsed in her underwear, she felt herself racing steadily towards a filthy, kinky climax.

“Thirty seconds, Penelope. Are you ready to get slopped?”

Maria was now standing by the fateful lever, a few feet away, safely out of the splatter zone. She was going to enjoy every second of her allotted ten minutes, and she was ready to pull the lever right at the last possible moment.

She watched Penelope writhe, as did the camera-Wenches - picking up every contortion of Penelope’s gasping, cream-covered face in full HD. The fingers of her restrained hands clenched and unclenched, and her legs shook with intense pleasure.

“You didn’t answer me,” continued Maria. “Maybe I’m wrong - maybe you don’t want it? Twenty seconds.”

“Unh! No, please… fuck… please…”

“And you’ll stop complaining about the stables? Will you be a good girl, Penelope?”

“Yes! Oh, anything… haa-aah-fuck…”

“Ten seconds.”

“Mmmph… oh God…”

The sheer adrenaline of the countdown was sending pre-orgasmic sparks through every muscle of Penelope’s body. She could feel so much raw potential energy, all centred on her soaking, quivering snatch. It felt like a huge case of fireworks just waiting to be set off.

“Five. Four. Three.”

Her breaths grew shorter, and she gasped for air. Her heart thumped madly in her chest.

“Two.”

“Oh god!”

“One.”

“Oh fuck!”

“Zero.”

Just before the clock on the wall hit its final mark, Maria firmly tugged the lever. Right away, it caused the vat to tip over sharply, casting out a sloshing wave of something bright green from its leading edge.

The instant Penelope felt the first heavy splatter of slime against her helpless head, she burst into a fierce, bone-shaking orgasm.

Maria laughed delightedly, as she watched an enormous, thick stream of chunky green sludge instantly obliterate the bound figure of her rival. It made a thunderous noise, weighty splatters going absolutely everywhere, hammering against the hard studio floor. And it looked spectacular, a chaotic green maelstrom, only vaguely in the shape of a girl.

Underneath the rushing, splashing pour, Penelope shuddered and juddered, gasping for breath. Within barely a second, the torrent had sloppily soaked every inch of her upper body, and it was still pouring. She could feel the texture against her skin - lumpy and bitty, like a milky porridge. It was lukewarm, and smelled gently chemical. 

It took maybe four seconds for the vat to fully empty. The intense torrent dwindled to a dribble, and Penelope spat away some goo, hungrily gulping down air into her lungs.

She was still cumming. It was a litany of wordless noises, growls and yelps and moans. Everything worked together to keep her atop this cresting wave of filthy pleasure: the wet embrace of the slime, the incessant purr against her clit, the delicious mocking laughter from Maria, the perving gaze of the viewers at home.

It was almost a relief when she felt Maria finally pull the vibrator back out of her slop-filled underwear. Waves of orgasm continued to ripple through her body, softer each time.

“Maybe I’ll keep hold of this,” said Maria with a smirk. “Clean it off, and take it with me to the finale. It turns out I rather like seeing helpless girls covered in goo.”

Penelope couldn’t manage words yet, only soft breathing and low murmurs of exhausted pleasure.

“I guess I’ll see you after the show. If they even let you out of here,” laughed Maria. She turned and walked away, one of the Wenches ushering her towards a suitable spot to watch the mayhem that was to come.

“There’s no time for a shower,” said the Wench. “Sorry.”

Maria hardly cared - she was in a fantastic mood.

---

VII: Gunked and Dunked

Eris had given strict instructions to her team on creating a pleasing transition into the finale.

Before Penelope was finally let out, to clean up and recover her sanity, one camera-Wench took a slow panning shot down her gunge-splattered, barely-clad body, and finally onto the floor, zooming in to the slick of lumpy green gunge pooling under her restraining cross.

There was a fade effect, and the gunk seemed to change colour. It had the same vaguely gross texture, but instead of green, it was now a swirling mixture of unappealing hues - purple, blue, grey, beige.

The camera zoomed out again, to reveal that this gunge was somewhere else entirely. More precisely, it was the gunge that filled the Mega Mucky Super Sloppy Gunk Dunk. And around this ominous, final swamp of goo was a scene to whet the appetite.

Over the PA, the online crowd’s excited laughter and cheering was already bubbling away.

Beattie’s eyes were wide, and her usually-rosy cheeks actually looked a little pale.

She was perched above the lip of the dunking vat, maybe six feet above the surface, in a kneeling position. Her sturdy thighs were placed on each side of some kind of saddle - it was similar in shape to a Sybian, but with a shallow central dip into which her crotch was nestled. Her hands were held behind her back - not that she had a choice in the matter, seeing as they were firmly cuffed.

Beattie’s plump, beautiful body was squeezed into a tight one-piece swimsuit, although not one that she would ever have picked off the rack. The fabric was so utterly sheer that it was almost transparent. Her heavy tits, which squished deliciously together, were on near-open display - as was her range of cute, subtle tattoos. And it had a decoration: across the belly, in bold yellow capitals, was the word LOSER.

Moving away from Beattie’s worried face and exposed body, the cameras took in what lurked behind and above her. An angled metal runway, about twenty feet long, extended up towards the studio wall at the rear. It was marked with numbers - Beattie’s current position was next to the zero, and behind that were lines at regular intervals, marked one to five. Straddling each of the marked lines was a rusty-looking metal arch, feet planted either side of the runway, like the ribs of some iron giant. Hanging from the apex of every arch was a blocky perspex reservoir of gunge, increasing in size as they ascended.

Swivelling around, the camera captured another face - this one incredibly smug. Bella gave a cheery wave down the lens. Her costume was also a tight one-piece, but much more dignified - the swimsuit was opaque for a start, and it was a shiny, shimmery golden colour. The word WINNER adorned it across the belly, which Bella pointed to with a wink while the camera was still on her.

She was sitting much more comfortably, perched in a vintage armchair, which sat inside a free-standing booth, wide but shallow, with an open top. Its walls were striped red and white, giving it a fairground feel. In front of the seat were two large levers, protruding from the floor: one a bold red, the other one shiny and golden.

Bella didn’t seem overly perturbed by the devices lying on the floor nearby, two contraptions made of white plastic piping, each with a paddle pointed at her that held a thick, creamy pie. A pair of Wenches was on hand, too, standing beside wooden shelving units, fairly laden with more of the same.

Opposite Bella’s seat, on the other side of the dunking vat, was some kind of display board, not illuminated for now. There were also two of the tall chat screens, flanking Beattie’s elaborate runway, and angled inwards to ensure she could see the taunting messages - which were already flooding in.

DUNK TIME
WHAT AN OUTFIT LMAO
BEATTIE’S ABOUT TO GETTT ITTT
SHE LOOKS TERRIFIED, AMAZING
<3 KNOCKERS

Finally, the camera zoomed backwards, capturing a wide shot of the whole set - including the array of wide-mouthed, rusty metal pipes, six of them in all, that descended from the studio ceiling and converged inwards, all aiming towards the epicentre of the sloppy pool below.

It was time for the host to make her entrance.

“Ready for one last blowout, you filthy little perverts?”

Eris could barely contain herself, skipping and spinning onto the set with delight, making frequent, grinning eye contact with poor doomed Beattie, and taking her place beside the blank display board on the left side.

“Fucking hell, I am excited!” began her spiel to camera. “Why? Well, because a naughty slut is about to get plunged into an enormous vat of my coldest, thickest, lumpiest, smelliest slime!”

Beattie squirmed. Eris wasn’t kidding about the smelliest, either. The scent had been making her stomach turn since the Wenches had plonked her down and cuffed her there. It wasn’t even a familiar kind of stench, like rotten eggs or sweaty socks. It was some truly weird combination of aromas, each assaulting her nose for just a moment, then getting replaced by something else. Boiled sprouts, sour milk, detergent, cod liver oil, paprika, tobacco… what the fuck was in there? She tried her best not to think about it.

“A fitting punishment for a smarmy, goody-two-shoes little sister, who gets away with everything - wouldn’t you agree, Bella?”

The victorious sister nodded enthusiastically.

“It’s Payback time. Welcome to the Mega Mucky Super Sloppy Gunk Dunk!”

Eris left some space for the wave of algorithmic cheering, and the flood of teasing, horny comments, to roll in. Then she held her hands palm-down, and made a gesture to quiet them.

“Alright, alright. I don’t want to keep you horndogs waiting too long, but I’ve just got to ask…”

She turned to the platform above the dunk. “Beattie. How ya feeling right now?”

The hangdog, uselessly-pleading expression was a delicious sight. “Don’t like it! I wanna go home!”

Eris cackled. “Aww, poor baby! The only place you’re going right now is down!”

Then she paused, and addressed the viewers again. “Actually - that’s not strictly true. As you can see, Beattie’s currently at the bottom of a nice big runway. But wouldn’t it be more fun to plunge her from right at the top - really hurl her in, with a huge, mucky splash?”

A chorus of agreement sounded at the thought. Comments reading CRANK HER UP were already filling the screens.

“Well, that’s what her sister will be trying to do! Hiya Bella, how’s tricks?”

“Pretty good! Thanks, Eris. I’m excited too.”

“Fuckin’ betcha are! Now, I’m sure you’ve noticed, you are in the Pie Booth right now.”

Bella rolled her eyes a little, and gave a flirty laugh. “I did notice. Seems a little unfair - aren’t I supposed to be the winner?”

Eris flirted back. “If you’d seen what happened to Penelope, you wouldn’t be complaining, trust me!”

This made Bella dial back her cheekiness a bit, as the host continued. “I just thought we should add a little extra slapstick entertainment for the loyal viewers.”

She tapped the screen next to her, which revealed a game-board of some kind: there were two large empty squares in the upper half with a plus sign between them, and a longer box underneath them.

“Bella’s gonna be playing a game I call Smush ‘Em. I’ll give two clues with answers that overlap in some way. She just has to smush ‘em together. Example: if the clues were the name of my slimy club, plus a posh wooden room full of lying wankers, the answer would be the Slop House of Commons. Geddit?”

Another little ripple of laughter. “Now, just to put her off, we will be cream-pieing Bella in the face while she comes up with the answers. Hopefully she doesn’t have to think too long…”

Bella wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out, but she was still in a giddy, fun mood. However many pies she got hit with, it’d be nothing next to her sister’s fate.

“Her reward for a correct answer? Well, she gets to pull the red lever. And what does that do to Beattie?”

There was no way for AI to simulate the joy of this, so Eris had instructed every Wench in the studio to join in on this part. Watching from behind the cameras, draped in a comfortable armchair, Maria added her voice to the chorus. But loudest of all, naturally, was Bella.

“Crank! Her! Up!”

“That’s right! Higher and higher she goes. Unfortunately for Beattie, there’s loads of sloppy gunge waiting for her on the way up, too! And, just maybe, some other naughty surprises.”

Beattie’s nervous, quiet pout had transformed into pathetic little whimpers now, all the teasing only making it so much worse. She couldn’t believe her bitch sister was actually going to do this.

“Five questions - and ten seconds to answer each question. Think you can drag her all the way to the sloppy top, Bella?”

“Yep, for sure!”

“Ooh, I like the confidence! Here we go then - your timer will start when I finish reading the clues. Question one!”

There was a classic gameshowy shift in the studio lighting - it became moody, purple and dark, but with bright spotlights on the host and the two contestants. As Eris read out the answers, they popped up in the boxes on the screen.

“An act of fellatio, plus the place you go to sign on the dole.”

A large red “10.00” appeared on the screen, and began counting down. At the very same moment, one of the pie-flinging devices was unleashed. A heavy cream confection, travelling at quite a clip, slapped into Bella’s right cheek with a gooey splatter.

“Eep!” The red number continued to while away, as Bella tried to get the clues straight in her mind. Word games were definitely her wheelhouse, but the addition of slapstick missiles certainly increased the difficulty level. “Blowjob… job… spluh!”

Another flan hit the other side of her face, and she spluttered, pawing cream away from her mouth.

“Job… ah - Blowjobcentre!”

Her answer wasn’t quite in time to prevent a third pieing from the catapult, but the loud “ding” over the PA made it clear that it was correct. The clock stopped, and Bella thrust her arms upwards in triumph…

…only to cringe back down again in surprise. Bella had no idea that there was a Wench on a raised platform behind her booth, crouching down out of sight. At the sound of the bell, she quickly stood, and sloshed a bucketful of royal blue slop over Bella’s head and shoulders.

Laughter pealed from the speakers, as Bella gawped in shock, aiming an accusatory look at Eris. Her colourful backdrop had a great blue slosh down it, and her hair was slicked in a gooey dome.

“I got it right! What’d you do that for?”

Eris shrugged. “Eh… for a laugh?”

There wasn’t much of an answer to that. Bella just flapped her sticky arms and let out a rueful laugh, while Beattie had the good sense not to gloat.

“Never mind Bella - now you get to dish it out! Come on, pull the lever and… Crank! Her! Up!”

She didn’t need to be told twice. With a grin, she grabbed the red lever and firmly yanked it towards her, watching her sister’s nervous face with glee. The lever snapped back into position, ready for next time.

A scuzzy, punky riff began to play out as Beattie’s platform groaned into life. And it wasn’t the only thing that activated - a gasp came to her throat as she felt the bulky device below her begin to buzz softly. “Mmh!”

The dip in its middle meant that her barely-covered crotch was hugged by a cradle of plastic surface, all of it imparting a gentle vibration.

Beattie had barely adjusted to this new development when the rising platform stopped, with a loud clunk, at the first marker. And immediately, a glossy stream of lukewarm slime, forest green, was unleashed over her head. “Eeyaah!”

With her hands clasped firmly behind her back, there was no protecting herself. It wasn’t poured from tremendously high, which reduced the humiliating splatteriness, but very much increased the quantity of smooth gunge flowing right down her shoulders, back, and chest.

It sent a shudder down her spine, as the sticky goo slathered over her sheer swimsuit. The garment was tight, but the valley of her magnificent cleavage still encouraged a little bit of the slime to start seeping inside it, down her front.

There was no way to wipe her face - she just hung her head, blinking her eyes, as the last of the gunge soaked her from above. Bella’s mocking laughter from below stung, much more so than the AI jeers of the crowd. She was glad that her predicament made it tough to read the comments, though they were continuing, and her sister was very much enjoying them.

SLOP THE SLUT
CRANK HER UP!
MORE GUNGE

“Question two, Bella?”

After seeing that little display, the older girl objected much less to the mess she had to face in this little game. Beattie was already well-slathered, and that was just after the first question!

“Bring it on!”

“Here we go then. We’ve got a bounty hunter from the Star Wars films, plus another word for kink.”

Splat - the first pie once again nailed Bella’s face as soon as the timer started, though it was a little easier to weather the storm now she’d figured out the pattern - they were alternating sides, and she seemed to get a pie every couple of seconds, so she could at least turn away and not get cream in her eyes and mouth.

The first clue was hard, and she racked her brain a little, as another gooey splurge hit her cheek. What about the second? Oh, fetish maybe. Who’s that one guy?

“Yes! Boba- ghhh!”

She was interrupted by another splurge before finishing her answer, but persevered. “Boba Fettish!”

Her success was confirmed by the bell - and the bucket. She squeaked with embarrassed laughter as purple gunge splashed over her head - and her own swimsuit was now getting quite slimy too, not to mention the chair. But this was just the price of doing business, and she chorused along this time as she got to torment her sister further.

“Crank! Her! Up!”

“Nooo… unhhh…”

Beattie felt the thrumming beneath her intensify ever so slightly, quickening her pulse. And within a few seconds, she had been dragged back to the next marker, so it was time for another slimy shower.

“Guhhh!”

This one was a lurid, snotty lime green. Just like the last one, it was slow-ish and silky and sensual, slathering down her body impudently, hugging her curves. Her bound arms were already covered in damp goo, as were the front of her thick, kneeling thighs.

Even as she cringed in humiliated disgust, she noted that Eris at least seemed to be saving the really cold, smelly gunk for later.

“Look at that, Bella,” cooed Eris. “Pretty sight, ain’t it?”

“I know! This is fun,” came the reply, Bella’s eyes sparkling.

“Another question then! Here we go. It’s… a female pleasure organ, plus a dickhead who somehow became Prime Minister in 2022.”

Bella giggled her way through the smack of gooey pies. She’d solved the first two riddles before half the time was even up, and she was pretty confident on this one, just trying to piece together how to say it out loud.

“Clitorishi Sunak!”

This time she raised her arms again, and even did a little cheery dance while she got splattered from above, swaying her lovely plump body in the chair. Having all the power over her bratty little sis was doing wonders for her mindset, her confidence and charisma.

Another chance to “Crank! Her! Up!” was gleefully taken, Bella cackling as she tugged the red lever.

Beattie knew the drill by now, not that it helped much. The seat below her intensified its vibrations once again, and she let out a low gasp. And then, a few seconds later, she took another plentiful drenching in smooth, slippery gunge, this one custard-yellow.

It was already noticeable that each reservoir held more slime than the last, and Bella gave a naughty, delighted squeak as she watched - there was so much slop! By the time it had finished, the platform beneath Beattie and the lower half of the metal runway were absolutely slick with a river of gunge, steadily oozing off the edge into the swamp below. 

Bella watched her sister squirm, wanting to remember this moment. And she just now noticed how Beattie’s thighs seemed to be twitching, her lower body shuddering. It didn’t take long to piece together what the device beneath Beattie was doing to her, even though she hadn’t been told. Bella bit her lip, a little bit scandalised and a little bit thrilled.

THIS IS SO FUCKING HOTTT
PLEASE DUNK THEM BOTH!
BEATTIE’S GONNA CUM LOL

“You’re smashing this so far, Bella! Can we take her all the way?”

“Hope so!”

“Let’s see, then! Question four: we’ve got an item of badminton equipment, plus a sex toy that’s placed around the penis.”

This one was easy - Bella only got pied twice before she confidently shouted “Shuttlecockring!” then hunched her shoulders and giggled through another sloppy pink bucketful from above.

She really did look incredible: her pretty red hair was all matted and sloppy, gunge and cream oozed down her shoulders and chest, and her naughty smile was utterly infectious.

The Wenches chorused along with Bella, Eris and Maria once again. “Crank! Her! Up!”

Every time they jeered the catchphrase, Beattie felt herself cringe more deeply. Especially as it wasn’t just her platform being cranked up. The buzzing against her slimy, squirming pussy was really quite something now, making her blood run hot. She could feel her slippery boobs rub together every time she moved, and her juicy nipples were rock-hard, straining against the practically transparent swimsuit.

And then, as she clunked into place at the fourth level, another huge, humiliating shower of gunge.

“Huah… gnnnh, fuck…”

Beattie’s muscles tensed and strained, so absolutely mortified by this ruination at her sister’s cruel hands… but so maddeningly teased by the sheer physical sensation of it. By the warmish slime that had crept into her cleavage, down her belly, making her damp pussy all the more slippery. By the long and plentiful caress of the oozing gunge tank’s contents, down her back and her buttocks, over her heaving chest. And by the rattle of the cuffs behind her back, as she helplessly wriggled and clenched her fingers.

She did her best to suppress a low, horny moan, and to shut out Eris’s teasing. The thick helmet of slime that covered her ears was helping a little with that.

“Final question, Bella! This last gunge tank is a fuckin’ doozy - ready to give your sister a massive sloppy soaking?”

“Oh, I’m ready!”

“That’s the spirit! Ten seconds, Bella. Your clues are: what we’re about to throw Beattie into - full name, please - and a popular American coffee-and-pastries chain.”

The timer started, and the pies started flying. Bella had to think about this one a little. Eris had said it a bunch of times, but could she remember it all?

“It’s the, uh - splugh! Mega Messy… no, Mega Mucky - eep!”

Panic was setting in slightly, but failure wasn’t an option here. She just had to go for it. Four seconds were left on the timer.

“Mega Mucky, Super Sloppy - puah! Gunk Dunkin’ Donuts!”

Her heart leapt at the sound of that wonderful, clear, dinging bell. Although her ultimate reward would have to wait a little. The cheery Wench above her booth really went to town this time, giving Bella a hearty victory drenching - five large buckets of blue, pink and purple gunge in quick succession.

The blushing redhead squealed and squirmed, though she was laughing too, accepting the silly unfairness of it with good grace. Once it finished, she giggled breathlessly, wiping slime from her face and hair, flicking it off her bare arms.

“A perfect score, Bella! You must really love gunging your sister!”

“And you must love gunging me!” Bella teased back, posing all sloppy and gooey in her chair.

“Guilty as charged! But for one final time - pull that red lever, and…”

“Crank! Her! Up!”

Beattie let out a quivering wail as the crank was triggered, and the thrumming below her spiked yet again. It was pleasuring her intensely now, sending shockwaves up her spine. The contrast of sensations - the powerless submission and deep humiliation, but also the kinky debauchery, the thrilling exhibitionism of it all - was making her head spin.

When she felt that heavy clunk into place once more, she gasped in desperate anticipation.

And there it was - a torrent of oozy green gunge, as thick as a tree-trunk, sloshing down from the tank above, over her helpless head. The audience’s simulated howls of pleasure reached fever pitch.

MAXIMUM GUNGE!
GOD I WANNA SUCK ON THOSE SLIMY TITS
SHE’S LOVING IT, KINKY SLUT!

Beattie felt herself start to cum, unable to hold back.

“Auhhh-uhhh-mmmh…”

Her legs and shoulders juddered, little spasms of humiliated pleasure bursting all over her body, as gallon after gallon of viscous, lurid slime flowed in a powerful river down her shapely, soft curves.

“Fuck, unnnh! Oh fuck, oh god…”

From below, Bella watched with wide eyes, enthralled.

Of course, she didn’t fancy her sister. That wasn’t the source of her fascination. But growing up just a year apart in age, both of them beautiful and confident and adventurous, there had inevitably been an edge of sexual competition to the sibling rivalry. Teasing comments about bums, bras and boyfriends were always ten-a-penny.

Watching her bratty little sis get buzzed into a humiliating orgasm, publicly exposed and covered in kinky slop - it made her feel like such a winner. A smug, sexy winner.

The loser, meanwhile, was finally given a merciful respite from the relentless, intimate gunging. While the final splashes of green dripped onto her soaked, slimy hair, Beattie felt the buzzing beneath finally quell to silence. It was an immense relief. She still tingled all over, and her muscles still ached with strange longing. But she was at least able to try and regain her breath, snorting and spluttering gunge from her nose and mouth.

“Nyuhhh…”

Words were impossible right now.

The studio lighting glowed more warmly again, the harsh spotlights on both contestants fading away.

“Congrats, Bella!” she began. “You really hit the jackpot. Look at her, she’s slimed silly, the poor thing! And of course, this show’s not over yet!”

Bella giggled along, pleased as punch. Eris could see her eyeing the golden lever, wanting desperately to reach out and do the deed. She glanced up at the comment screens: every single post contained the word DUNK. The crowd were as ravenous for it as the winner was.

“Oh Beattie,” continued Eris. “Just one last question before you get it.”

No, no more teasing, please, thought the poor slimed girl. She could barely see Eris, thanks to the straggly curtain of slimy hair hanging down over her eyes. With an undignified shake of the head, she tried to clear her vision, just so she could see what the sadistic host was even up to.

It turned out that she was brandishing a golden envelope.

“What if I told you that this envelope contained one final question - the Switcheroo. And that if you answered it right, I’d let you swap places with Bella - meaning she would be the one heading into the Mega Mucky Super Sloppy Gunk Dunk, instead of you?”

Bella’s expression transformed in an instant from smarmy delight to abject horror, her jaw hanging fully open.

“Would you like that, Beattie?”

The younger sister burst into a hopeful smile. She even bounced on her naughty seat a little, setting her gooey chest jiggling. The very thought of turning the tables made her outrageously happy.

“Oh, yes! Oh, please…”

“Well,” replied Eris, after a short pause. “That’s a shame.”

She tossed the envelope away with a flick of the wrist, and it spun across the studio.

“Because there is no Switcheroo question, and you are definitely, definitely getting it.”

The breath of relief that Bella expelled was audible above the crowd’s laughter.

LMAO, GOT HER
ABSOLUTELY MERKED
BELLA’S FACE FOR A SECOND THO

“Aaaugh!” wailed Beattie. “You are evil! That’s so mean!”

“Oh dear,” said Eris coolly. “If you think that’s mean, you’re gonna hate this…”

A strange sound effect burst over the speakers - like a sped-up, distorted jester’s laugh. The bright studio lights dimmed once again, replaced with coloured tints that swooped and flashed, red and green and purple. And with a spectacular pivot, the entire wall behind Beattie swung backwards in two halves, revealing a hidden area.

The music sounded especially taunting and gothic, full of distorted, semitonal guitar riffs, as a panicking Beattie realised her platform was sliding further backwards.

“What the fuck? No, come on, oh my god- nyrrk!”

That strange, strangled noise at the end was Beattie’s reaction to her vibrating seat coming to life once more - and at about twice the ferocity of the previous highest setting. But that wasn’t her only shock - she also noticed who was there to greet her.

A phalanx of Wenches stood smartly in formation, six on each side of this dimly-lit, recessed hollow. All were grinning widely, holding a tin bucket aloft, proudly, in front of their punky t-shirts. More messy supplies stood on deep shelves behind them, lurking in the gloom.

“Yaaagh! No, no, noooo…”

“Yes, yes, yeees!” came the inevitable reply from Eris, below. “Wenches - do your worst!”

It began with the buckets. With deft co-ordination, one of the Wenches on each side stepped sharply forwards, and they simply hurled their contents forward at the helpless girl.

Beattie squeaked in alarm, scrunching up her eyes and mouth just in time, before feeling the enormous, hard splatter of the double-gunging, wet and loud and cruel, against her face, chest and belly. “Bluah!” she spluttered, knocked for six by the sudden splurge.

It happened again, immediately, giving barely a moment to catch her breath. The second pair of Wenches unleashed their bucketfuls of thick, sticky gunge right at her. And then the third…

Bella, down below, just about had a clear line of vision to this mucky mayhem. Wish I was closer! But it was still a powerful sight, this utterly unnecessary extra slopping, and she drank in the schadenfreude like it was champagne.

Maria, meanwhile, watched with a mixture of relief and fascination, gently biting her lip. It wasn’t so much that she was glad to have avoided this final mess-a-thon - in fact, there was a tiny part of her brain saying it looked like fun. But if she had lost, it would have been Penelope pulling the levers and dishing out the humiliation, and that would have been absolutely unbearable. All in all, she was tremendously glad that things had turned out this way.

Up in the danger zone, Beattie was squirming for her damn life, fighting to remain upright as the buzzing below made her legs turn to jelly. More double-gushes of slime smacked hard against her barely-protected body, sloppy waves making her huge tits jiggle and squish together in the swimsuit.

Twelve buckets down, and so naturally, it was time for a pie-barrage.

In contrast to their previous, tightly co-ordinated assault, this was a free-for-all, the dozen-strong crew darting back towards the shelves to arm themselves with giant, oozy cream pies, and then all unleashing from whatever angle they could find. Eris had given them one instruction for this part: nail her right in the face.

A ferocious fusillade of flans splattered, heavy and creamy, into Beattie’s gasping cheeks. Pie after sloppy pie engulfed her mouth and nose, leaving her fighting for shallow breaths. The smell, rich and sugary, was certainly not the worst she’d experienced today - but the combination of over-the-top slapstick degradation, plus the steadily pulsing stimulation of her pussy, was outrageously embarrassing. Even under a relentless coating of cool cream, her cheeks felt like they were on fire.

After several dozen merciless flannings, which left her face, shoulders and cleavage a riot of white slop, Beattie noticed that there was a pause - a slight moment where nothing horribly messy was being inflicted upon her.

That was almost worse, somehow. And besides, it left her mind free to concentrate on the cupping embrace of the fiercely vibrating toy below her. Her open mouth was a moaning oasis in a desert of fluffy goo.

“Nyuhh, ahh, ahh, ahh…”

The next thing she felt was a sharp tug at the back of her swimsuit.

Unsurprisingly, she hadn’t seen the Wenches bringing a gargantuan bucket up behind her, so big that it took two of them to lift. But she certainly felt it when a truly ludicrous quantity of sticky, thick, strawberry-flavoured Angel Delight was tipped into the rear of her suit.

“Guhhh-hhh-aaagh!” 

Cold and gungey, the sweet mass flowed quickly down Beattie’s back, making the suit suddenly feel outrageously heavy, like some outdated fat-suit from a bad comedy film. It hugged her squirming buttocks. She felt her cuffed hands smush into the small of her back, against this gloppy padding, shivering at the feeling.

Her brain wasn’t quite moving quickly enough to register that if they’d just filled the back of her swimsuit, they might also enjoy doing the front.

The thin fabric that constrained her huge breasts was pulled forwards, and they fell free with a delicious wobble. Beattie tried to blink her eyes open and focus, but the Wenches were already hefting the second giant bucket.

“Fff-uuu-hhh!”

A thick wave of fridge-cool trifle spilled over her tits, making a truly filthy splattering noise, and fell heavily down into her swimsuit. Fluffy cream, thick custard, cool jelly, sticky jam, and damp, near-liquid sponge - all these textures caressed her curvy knockers, and their diamond-hard nipples, on the way down to smother and engulf her aching, twitching cunt.

That heavy sensation in her lap was enough to set her off. With a pained cry, Beattie climaxed once again, shuddering and gasping.

Her second, even more intense orgasm was given a suitably rude and gooey accompaniment. The team of Wenches once again armed themselves with plump, oozy cream pies, and unleashed a second wave.

This time, they were aiming everywhere but her face. And they weren’t flinging them, either: every cool, sloppy payload was firmly slapped against her writhing body.

The impact of every pie, whether against her belly, chest or back, forced a splurge of sweet gunk to gush out of the swimsuit - out of the top, falling downwards with heavy splats, or out at the crotch, streaking down her thighs and bum.

Down in the main set, Bella’s eyes were wide, and her hands were steepled over her mouth, genuinely rather shocked. And deeply, deeply glad that there had not actually been a Switcheroo question.

By the time the Wenches had finished shamelessly plastering her body, Beattie’s swimsuit had lost a fair bit of mass. As they finished her off with a hearty pie-sandwich, two gooey flans splattering together over her cheeks, she felt the maddening vibrations below finally start to slacken off a little.

She was still cumming, unable to speak other than low moans and breathy splutters. But slowly, slowly, she descended from the climatic peak and began to regain her senses.

The platform beneath her, the one that had dragged her body and her saddle up the ramp, was a riot of multicoloured, commingled slop, as was the studio floor around it, and the ramp itself.

With cruel timing, the platform began to move forward again with a heavy jolt, interrupting Beattie’s recuperation, and helping her find her voice.

“Ah! Nooo, wait…”

Fortunately for her, she was not immediately hurled down the ramp and plunged into the goo while still quivering with horny embarrassment.

The platform came to a halt at the top line of the ramp, number 5. And, to Beattie’s great surprise, she felt two hands carefully address the handcuffs behind her, keeping her wrists steady while they slipped a key in the lock and unclasped them.

It seemed a strange and uncharacteristic mercy, and she barely knew what to even do with her hands, freed after such a long stretch of messy bondage and humiliation.

“Auh… uhhh…”

She stretched her arms and rolled her aching shoulders, then put her hands to her forehead and steadily dragged them downwards, dislodging a thick coating of gunge and cream. Bella, Eris and the audience finally got to see Beattie’s face clearly again - and her weary, defeated expression was enjoyed by all of them.

HOLY SHIT WHAT A SLOPPING
RECKON SHE CAME AGAIN
DUNK HER DUNK HER DUNK HER

Eris’s motives for freeing Beattie’s hands at this point were not entirely altruistic. Firstly, she knew the cameras would get that lovely close-up of the loser’s chastened, embarrassed face. Secondly, it’d rather spoil the party if someone had to rescue the cuffed loser from literally drowning in slop. And thirdly, she felt that the final, gooey indignity would be visually enhanced by a certain amount of flailing.

Bella was practically bouncing in her seat, legs wiggling, eyes flitting between her sister and the golden lever before her. There was still a tiny smidgen of doubt in her mind - a sneaking fear that the lever might actually catapult her seat upwards, and hurl her into the gunge instead - but it was fairly small, and her main feeling was of teasing, sadistic excitement.

Eris, meanwhile, rubbed her hands together with glee.

“Time for the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Any last words, Beattie?”

Her shoulders slumping, Beattie just shook her head meekly.

“No? Well fortunately, we’ve prepared some for you.”

There was a sudden cut in the audience cheering, replaced by a swell of soft, classical music. The horny comments also disappeared from the screens. Both sisters seemed rather confused by this development.

“Beattie! Please place your hand over your heart - or as close as you can get, with those enormous puppies in the way - and read out your Loser’s Testimony.”

The slimy, nervous girl frowned - it seemed yet another large bucketful of sheer embarrassment was about to be poured over her. When she saw the words that began to scroll up the chat screen, her brow only furrowed further. But she knew there was no point refusing.

Sighing, Beattie did as instructed, placing a palm flat against her chest, in the valley of her sticky cleavage. She could feel its heavy beat under her fingers.

“I, Beattie Townsend, do hereby attest that I am a stupid, annoying little brat.”

Bella snorted with laughter, now understanding what was happening here. She plonked her elbow on the arm of her seat, and let her cheek rest on her hand, watching Beattie’s uncomfortable face with rapt interest.

“I get my way by fluttering my eyes, jiggling my boobs, and giggling like an idiot. My music taste is horrendous, I’m a sore loser at board games, and… ugh, really?”

“Word for word please, Beattie!”

“...and I do big stinky farts.”

More helpless laughter from Bella - they’d clearly cribbed this from the list of grievances she provided in her first email.

Grimacing, Beattie continued through the humiliating spiel. “For the above stated reasons, I hereby declare… gah… that I should undoubtedly be thrown into the Mega Mucky Super Sloppy Gunk Dunk, and that I fully deserve every last drop of slop that I am about to be covered in.”

Bella gave a hearty cheer of agreement, while Beattie grumbled quietly, seeing that there was yet another taunting paragraph.

“Hmph. Furthermore, I would like to commend my sister Bella, who has displayed saint-like patience and grace by putting up with my shit ever since I was born.”

“Why thank you, sis!”

“Shut it.” Beattie gritted her teeth, pushing through to the bitter end. “It is only right and proper that she should have the honour of plunging me into an enormous vat of hideous, smelly gunge. Therefore…”

The final part really made her squirm to recite it.

“Therefore, I humbly request of you, Bella… ngh… please, sister dearest, would you kindly pull the golden lever, and send me down… mph… down into the Mega Mucky Super Sloppy Gunk Dunk?”

Bella could barely believe her luck. What a delicious cherry on the cake, hearing her sister beg for the gunge! She teased outrageously, making will-I-or-won’t-I faces, fondling the lever every which way.

“Well, Bella. You heard your sister. Whaddya think - you wanna grant her request?”

“Oooh,” replied Bella, in a thrilled squeal. “She did ask ever so nicely, didn’t she?”

“Very polite, I thought.”

“I agree. After all that - how could I refuse?”

Cackling with glee, and staring right up at her sister’s bashful face, Bella yanked the golden lever with all her might.

The soft music disappeared, and the AI-powered din of laughter and jeering kicked back in. Rude and raunchy comments immediately filled the screens again. Coloured lights flashed, and hidden smoke machines billowed wispy clouds along the slime-slicked runway below Beattie.

She felt something clank below her, and then the beginning of a slow movement. There was no sound of machinery or motors, and an instinctive feeling in her stomach told her that the platform she knelt on was now untethered, in freefall under gravity.

And the thing about gravity is that heavy objects - for example, a metal platform, bearing a sex-toy saddle and a plump girl covered in thick slime - are very affected by it.

It took a couple of seconds for the platform to pass the number four marker - as it did, sparkling pyrotechnics shot out into the air on either side, making Beattie jump.

But the thing had momentum now, quickly picking up speed and racing past the third marker, setting off another pair of flashbangs.

Beattie’s hands were balled into fists, held nervously by her chest, and the pitch of her squealing rose in tandem with the platform’s velocity. “Aaa-aaa-aaah…!”

The final few markers were passed in a headlong rush, and the platform hit the end of the runway at a frighteningly quick rate.

It thudded to a hard stop. At the same time, the saddle below Beattie levered its back end upwards.

Screaming blue murder, arms and legs flailing manically, she flew less-than-gracefully through the air for a long second. And then she plunged into the vat of nasty goo, right in the centre, making a disgustingly loud, squelchy and splattery sound, creating huge waves of glop that sloshed outwards from the site of her undignified landing.

The next few seconds, totally submerged in the gunge, were like nothing Beattie had ever felt before. There was the strange silence of it - the roar of the crowd, and her sister’s mocking laughter, were replaced by a ponderous, echoey swooshing. Its lumpy, thick texture gave a strange kind of massage to her skin, as she swished her heavy-feeling limbs around, trying to find her feet. And it was cold - a slight relief, in some ways, after she’d been driven to a peak of red-hot, flustered orgasm. But it would be quite a stretch to call it refreshing.

Finally, with legs quivering in embarrassment, Beattie managed to stand upright, the surface of the goo sloshing around her waist. The plentiful coating of slop - all over her head, shoulders and upper body - flowed heavily down into the pool. She gasped for air, and wiped her face.

She’d been holding her breath under the slime, so it was only now that the smell hit her - several times more weird and alien and horrible than it had been when dangling above the pit. She spat the foul gunk from her lips, moaning in disgust. “Pleh! Fuck!”

There was still an anticipatory hunch in her shoulders, knowing that there was more slop on the way. Eris wasted no time in organising its delivery.

“Bloody marvellous! What a splat! But I think we can all agree - she needs more gunge!”

At her command, one of the six pipes arranged in a circle above the pit spewed out some more cold, lumpy slop, perfectly aimed over Beattie’s matted hair. It was clearly the same recipe, though instead of a colourful swirl, this gunge was all one shade - an ugly dark grey.

“Guahhh!”

Beattie tensed, her hands tight to her chest, as it sloshed over her. The stream was indulgently wide, and it was propelled fast from the pipe’s mouth, so even though it only lasted a couple seconds, it still delivered many litres of the awful glop over the wincing girl.

When it suddenly shut off, Beattie snatched a panting breath. But after a very brief pause, one of the other pipes took its turn to deliver a fast and sloppy gunging, this one an unpleasant off-white.

“More!” cried Bella from the chair.

“Oh, you betcha!” replied Eris with a wink.

The circle of slimings continued, and Beattie yelped and cursed her way through four more hearty helpings of smelly, gloopy slime. There was a muddy brown, a dark algae-green, a muted lavender, and a sandy orange.

Every slopping came from a slightly different overhead angle, splattering slightly different parts of her upper body, but always with plenty gushing spectacularly right over her head. The streams from above disturbed the surface of the gunge, and it splashed up against her juicy melons in her ruined LOSER swimsuit.

After enduring half a dozen slimy degradations, Beattie stood, gasping for breath, finally getting a few moments’ peace. The viewers, though, didn’t seem to be a fan of that concept.

MORE GUNGE MORE GUNGE MORE GUNGE
SLOP HER AGAIN!
JUST LEAVE HER IN THERE

Neither was Eris. As breezy as you like, she cooed a suggestion in Bella’s direction.

“How about some double-gungings?”

“What?” came the indignant cry from the pit, as Bella nodded and clapped excitedly.

Slime gushed from overhead again, this time with two pipes slathering Bella at once. “Yaaa-aargh! You fucking - spluh - fucking bitches!”

Her arms were held out to her sides in sheer exasperation, poking out from the splattery arcs and sheets that cascaded from her head and shoulders, and gunge slapped against her upturned palms. Shortly after the first pair of pipes quietened, the next two inevitably followed.

“Bastards! Euch, augh…”

The cold was starting to get to her, making her shiver in an entirely different way than the vibrating seat had. As a third double-gunging nailed her, she slapped her fists against the surface of the slop in helpless frustration.

“Haah… nyahh… you fucking…”

Beattie spat out some of the stinky muck, looking for all the world like a comic-book swamp monster. She raised a heavy arm, and pointed a slime-dripping finger up at her smug, elated sister.

“You are so fucking dead when we-”

Eris interrupted. “Triples?”

“What the-”

Three streams of nasty slop converged over the furious, screeching hottie, splattering together even more loudly than the double-gungings, slapping against her hair, against the roiling, sloshing surface of the plunge pool. A brief pause, and then the other three gunged her, grey and green and orange slop creating a distinctly unappealing explosion of colour. Bella hooted as her sister wailed, utterly humiliated and outrageously dirty.

The online audience’s laughter and cheering was more raucous than ever, with comments flowing as fast as the gunge.

ALL AT ONCE!
WE WANT SIX!
FINISH HER OFF!

Beattie wearily de-slopped her face again, and aimed a pointed look towards Eris, who was standing with one hand on her hip, silently smirking. Then she looked at her sister, who was watching Eris with anticipation. A defeated pout came to her lips, and she looked at Eris again, slightly hopeless. You’re gonna do it, aren’t you, her expression said.

Eris answered the unspoken question, with a cheeky wink to camera. “Oh come on. I think we have to.”

In unison, all of the pipes above burst into sloppy, gushing life. Beattie simply held her head in her hands, feeling gallon after gallon splatter and soak her, pounding against her shoulders, sloshing into her cleavage. It went on longer this time too, five or six seconds of rushing, gushing obliteration.

When this super-sadistic sextuple sliming had finished, the poor victim was left quietly whimpering, dripping goo into the pool below, knees weak and arms limp.

Eris left a suitable gap for cheering and laughter. The stream comments seemed suitably satisfied, though there were a few requests of DO IT AGAIN. Bella certainly seemed to have found it a fulfilling experience, and her face held a wide, Cheshire cat grin.

“Congratulations, Bella,” began Eris. It was actually, finally, time to wrap things up. “You got your wish - did you enjoy sending your sister to the Mega Mucky Super Sloppy Gunk Dunk?”

“Best fucking day of my life,” came the reply.

“Probably not hers, though.”

A rueful splutter came from the goo-monster in the stinky, mucky swamp. “Huh!”

“Yeah, probs not. Heh heh…”

“Right then,” said Eris, turning towards the camera. “That was Payback - I hope you thoroughly enjoyed it. Do clean up after yourselves,” she teased, “and make sure you come and join us again next time.”

She addressed the contestants for a final time. “Give us a wave goodbye, Bella?”

The older sister cheerily assented, waving at the camera with great enthusiasm, while pointing to the word WINNER on her swimsuit. “Bye-eee!”

“And wave goodbye while we pour one last load of slop on your head, Beattie?”

Beattie gave a grunt of annoyance and shock - which turned into a sigh, and a resigned shrug.

Summoning her last reserves of defiance, she found her assigned camera, and thrust her right hand forwards and upwards, raising a stiff middle finger.

When a final sloppy drenching was unleashed, Beattie’s middle finger remained upraised, poking impertinently out through the splashing waves of lumpy, stinky goo.

And it was hard to tell for sure, but in the seconds before her final gunging began, there might just have been the hint of a naughty smile playing across Beattie’s lips.

Epilogue

Alexa and Sally stared at the blank screen now the episode was over, their hips pressed close together on the sofa. Both were short of breath, with cheeks deeply flushed.

Gingerly, they withdrew opposite hands from each other’s waistbands. Alexa lifted the packet of wipes from the coffee table, and proffered them to Sally, who plucked a couple and freshened up her fingers. Alexa did likewise.

There was a gently flustered moment of silence.

“Bloody hell.”

“Yep. She knows what she’s doing.”

“She’s a lot meaner than you. That gunk dunk looked horrible.”

“Beattie took it like a champ, though.”

“Mm-hmm.”

They spent another moment in contemplation, before Sally spoke again.

“What’s the plan, then?”

“Destroy her, obviously.”

Sally raised her eyebrows at this.

“Not like that - I don’t mean destroy the show. Like I said - healthy competition.”

“Keep us sharp.”

“Exactly. But no, I meant destroy her with gunge. We need to get her in here, and absolutely fucking annihilate her. Every machine we can muster, every sneaky trick in the book.”

“I imagine she’ll want to do the same to you.”

“Of course. But I’ll win.”

“You will.”

“She may be good. Very good, even.”

Alexa’s eyes narrowed, and there was real fire in them. “But she’s not the best. That title is taken.”

Watching her wife get heated, boastful, dominant - it made Sally’s stomach flutter just a little. But it was probably a good idea to simmer her down somewhat.

“So, uh, I guess we’ll need a planning meeting… shall I find us a time tomorrow?”

“No time like the present, surely? Unless you’ve got too much on today.”

Sally thought for a moment. “That stuff can wait. We’re not shooting for three weeks.”

“Great. Down to business, then.”

“Refill the pot?”

“Ooh yes - thank you my love. And I think this calls for Battenberg.”

Fin