Disclaimer: This story is purely a work of fiction. It does NOT describe real events and the characters are fictional. Any resemblance to real events or persons is coincidence. In keeping with it’s fictional nature, the events and activities described in the story may not be legal, ethical or safe. This site does not endorse or recommend their enactment.
Trigger warning: If Benny Hill style humour and blatant sexism played as family-friendly humour is not your thing, don’t read on.
The family were having a Christmas meal at their favourite restaurant in a rural village. Sarah wore a short pink halter neck dress with pink high heels and a white basque underneath.
Though she liked to look her best, she was starting to worry that it was a bit revealing, but her husband told her that she looked great and that they didn’t have time to get changed now anyway as it was time to set off.
When they got to the car park, there were several family members waiting there already so that they could all walk in together. Sarah was careful not to slip in her high heels as there was lots of snow and ice on the ground.
There were also three young boys hanging around in the car park and chucking snowballs. Before Sarah knew it:
PAFF! A big powdery snowball exploded against her chest.
“YES!!!” Cheered one of the boys. “Direct hit, right in the tits!”
“You could hardly miss,” said the second boy. “They’re HUGE! Tell me you got that?”
“Oh yes,” said the third boy who was filming on his phone. “Just wait ’til you see the replay in slow-wobble-motion !” And then they ran off.
Everyone except Sarah was laughing. Anything to do with her prominent chest was just comedy gold as far as everyone, even her own family, were concerned. Anything that happened to them, no matter how humiliating, uncomfortable or even downright painful, was just one big joke. She was trying to brush all the snow off but there was a lot of it and it was already turning to ice water and trickling down her basque.
“Shall I help?” Laughed her nephew, Andrew.
“You’re gonna need a bigger shovel,” said her brother.
Then her Dad said “Plenty of snow on those hills…” but he was looking up the road towards the moorlands, so she couldn’t be sure if he was teasing her too or admiring the scenery. Anyway, she just ignored them all and they crossed the road to the restaurant, with Sarah still wiping away at her bosom.
As they went through the door, the Chef was standing there to greet them one by one. He took hold of Sarah’s hand and said:
“Hello Sarah, it’s a pleasure to see you both,”
He looking straight at her tits as he said it and kept shaking his hand up and down really hard so that her chest wobbled out of control and he didn’t let go for ages.
When he finally released her hand, a young waitress whispered to Sarah.
“That’s how he gets when he’s been at the sherry. I just try to ignore it…”
Then she did a little “eek” because the Chef pinched her bum as he strolled off back to the kitchen.
When they all sat down, Sarah realised the short dress was a mistake. It wouldn’t fold underneath her so she just had to let it fan out. The chair felt cold against her exposed skin and thin underwear. She shivered as she squirmed her 10 denier nylon against the hard wood, which still felt a little slippery from being polished.
Then she did a little yelp as something landed between her boobs. She tried to pick it out but it just slipped further between them and got lost.
“Oh bother, what was that!”
“It was an olive,” Andrew owned up. “It just slipped out of my fingers,”
“Nonsense,” she snapped. “You must have aimed it there!”
“Leave him alone, Sarah,” said her brother. “Your Knockers take up half the room. There’s a 50% chance that anything randomly thrown in the air will end up between your gigantic Bangers!”
“Dad! Tell them!” she whined to get her Father to step in and stop the teasing.
“Really, Sarah. You could have worn something a little more conservative…”
Great, thought Sarah. So everyone’s picking on me but somehow it’s my fault.
Then Chef started working his way around the table asking people which turkey portion they wanted. Leg or breast?
When he got to Sarah, he didn’t even ask her but winked and said loudly to the whole table:
“With her, I’m thinking Breast!”
“Actually, I’m a vegetarian,” Sarah said proudly.
“No way!” Replied Chef in disbelief. “What do you eat to grow them that big? Coconuts?”
“No,” laughed Andrew. “She’s on a strict diet of giant Melons!”
“Or big fat Pumpkins!” Said her young cousin.
“Or massive Milk Jellies!” Added his younger brother.
“Enough with the boob jokes!” Sarah said angrily. “Or I’m going to end up kicking someone in the…”
“Nut-cutlet?” Said Chef.
“Thank you, that will be fine,” she replied politely.
But before Chef walked away, he picked up a garlic mushroom from a bowl on the table and pressed it firmly into her cleavage.
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” she squeaked.
“Sorry,” said Chef. “They looked so squashed together – I didn’t think you could find MUSHROOM between them! Geddit? Mush-room!”
He walked away laughing as she started to fish it out using a napkin. Andrew offered to help again but she ignored him. Sarah eventually got the mushroom and the olive out but she could still feel slimy garlic butter and olive oil sticking her basque to her skin and the only way she could deal with that was a trip to the bathroom.
But then the entertainment, Dave, arrived. Sarah had booked him to come and play some music before the main course was served and she had agreed to go and help him set up on stage when he got there so now she didn’t have any time to go and get cleaned up.
Dave shouted over to her to bring him a bottle of beer and he added that she should bring her own drink up with her too in case they did a toast.
So, Sarah’s high heels carefully tottered over to the small stage as she carried two drinks. All eyes where upon her as Dave made a comment about her dress.
“Doesn’t she look lovely everyone? If my guitar takes one look at her I think all the strings will snap off!”
Sarah blushed as she stepped up onto the stage with him. She tried to hand him his beer but he ignored it and said:
“Sarah, can you hold the microphone for a moment?”
“I’ve got no free hands,” she explained.
“You’ve got a good point,” agreed Dave. Then he turned to everyone and said:
“Actually, she’s got a couple of good points hasn’t she?”
He waited for the laughter to die down a bit and then he shrugged and pushed the microphone down between her boobs and left it there. It made a loud noise through the speakers as it squashed right down into her cleavage. Everyone laughed at Sarah’s shocked face as she became a human microphone holder.
What made it even funnier was that Dave had some sort of sound effect pedal – he tapped it with his foot and suddenly everyone could hear a loud heartbeat noise – ‘Lub-Dup, Lub-Dup, Lub-Dup’ – thumping through the speaker.
“That’s strange,” said Dave and squeezed the microphone back out with a loud PLOP! “Let’s see what else it can pick up…” then he held it up against her head. The sound effect that he played now was a loud ‘DURRRRRR!’ noise, as if the mic was picking Sarah’s brain activity – or lack of.
“Nope, nothing interesting going on up there. The bra is full but the head is empty!” he added. Everyone laughed at the girl being made fun of on stage.
Dave noticed that the microphone was now slimy with garlic butter so he quickly wiped it on the hem of Sarah’s dress! She was still too shocked to tell him off and her hands were occupied so she couldn’t slap his face like she dearly wanted to.
Then he finally put the microphone in it’s stand and put the guitar around his neck. As he did this, the head of the guitar caught under the hem of Sarah’s dress and lifted it up – showing off her stockings tops and knickers. She couldn’t unhook it because she still had both hands full.
“Sarah! Watch what you’re doing!” Dave scolded her like it was her fault. She tried to pull away but he just seemed to keep moving with her so that her dress remained stuck in the hoisted up position.
“Well one of us needs to stand still!” Sarah snapped – but whichever way she moved, the guitar just followed her and lifted her dress higher and higher. Everyone was howling with laughter. Eventually Sarah managed to slam Dave’s bottle of beer down on top of the speaker and use her free hand to wrestle her dress away from his guitar.
“Okay Jumbo Jugs,” said Dave, “You’ve held up the show long enough. Run along now!” and he swung the head of his guitar to give Sarah a little tap on the backside and push her off the stage.
“Yeouch!” she clutched her free hand to her bottom and gave a little squeal as she stumbled back towards her chair, trying not to spill her glass of wine. Everyone was still laughing and applauding as Sarah sat down. Her Dad said to her,
“Well done Sarah, I didn’t know you were going to arrange a musician AND a comedian,”
“Neither did l,” she muttered.
Dave performed a couple of xmas songs then he said he was dedicating the next song to Sarah. She thought that seemed like a sweet thing to do until he began to sing a version of ‘My Milkshake Brings all the Boys to the Yard’. Everyone had good laugh at the expense of her hilarious Bangers once again. She was annoyed at the teasing but she had to admit it was quite a catchy cover version.
Soon, the main courses were being served and eaten. Chef was still being very jolly and going around the table checking that everyone was enjoying their meal and had enough gravy or cranberry sauce. When he got close to Sarah, she heard him say.
“Who would like gravy on their breasts?”
It sounded innocent at first but – hang on a minute! Does he mean?…but before she could prepare for danger, he was standing behind her and was tipping the gravy boat. Sarah went cross-eyed for a second as she watched a steady brown trickle start to appear about an inch in front of her nose, and she felt a warm pool of thickened meat juices plopping onto her skin and flooding the valley of her Va-Va-Vooms.
“What on earth are you doing?” she screeched as she tried to push her chair back from the table and stand up – but Chef was quite a heavy man and was leaning against her, trapping her there. Everyone laughed as she struggled and protested and waited for the warm, brown deluge to cease. The gravy was beginning to leak onto her chair underneath her dress and trickle onto the floor.
Finally, Chef put the empty gravy boat down on the table and let Sarah stand up. She really wanted to give him a piece of her mind but there were children present and she didn’t want to ruin anyone’s Xmas. So she just clenched her fists, said “OOOOO!!!” and gave Chef a hard stare before storming off to the bathroom. She added a little “eek!” As he patted her on the bottom on her way past. Everyone was cheering like Chef was some sort of comedy genius.
Sarah cleaned up with paper towels and dabbed herself with as much water as she could get away with without making the front of her dress totally see through. She checked her hair and make up in the mirror before strutting back out with her head held high – trying to show everyone that she could and would rise above their silliness.
She quickly checked with her husband if the gravy on her seat had been cleaned whilst she had been gone. He nodded, so she confidently fanned out her short dress and sat back down.
PLOPP!!! She gulped in surprise as her backside collided with something cold and wet, squishing it against the chair. Her eyes went wide with horror.
“You told me the chair was clean!!!” she hissed at her husband through gritted teeth.
“No I didn’t. You asked me if there was any gravy left on the chair,” he shrugged as he corrected her. “You didn’t ask whether Chef had left a pie on there instead!”
Sarah sighed and rolled her eyes as she felt herself sink a little deeper into the sticky, fruity mess. With sloppy lumps of pie squashing upwards between her thighs, she squirmed uncomfortably.
“Banana Cream?” she asked defeatedly.
“Good guess,” her husband confirmed, trying his best to stay deadpan.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Well, it was a specialty on their dessert menu – and Sarah thought she could detect the shape of the gooey banana slices amongst the soft cream.
Sarah slowly arose from her seat, hoping that she could make it back to the bathroom without anyone noticing. That’s when she realised that it wasn’t just Chef and her husband who were in on the joke. The whole room were watching her and erupted with laughter at the awkward way she had to peel her dress away from her thighs and the way she wrinkled her nose in disgust.
Before Sarah could give anyone a piece of her mind or storm off to the bathroom, Chef arrived with a food trolley and effectively blocked her exit. There were five more fruit and cream pies on the trolley and Chef picked up two of them.
“Pie Sandwich!!!” someone shouted out – though this is a technically inaccurate term, because it doesn’t describe the contents of the sandwich.
“Tit Sandwich!!!” shouted Andrew, which was somewhat more apposite. Chef was ahead of him as he brought both pies together on either side of Sarah’s bust with a mighty percussion.
Cream burst outward and upward and all over the front of Sarah’s dress in a massive wobbly wave. Everyone cheered at the tremendous splash of pie goo and the hypnotic jiggling. Chef kept his hands there for a moment, squeezing his fingers and crumpling the foil pie tins so that they moulded to Sarah’s messy Knockers and stayed there when he took his hands away.
“Milk bottle tops!” shouted one of Sarah’s cousins.
Chef already had a third pie in his hand. He whirled it around in a big circle, dancing his way up to Sarah and making a show of it. He teased it in front of her face for maybe half a second as a distraction from his real target. Then his arm dropped and the pie was turned from horizontal to vertical and slapped firmly between Sarah’s thighs.
Sarah lurched forward and stumbled a little on her heels. Still too stunned to speak or make any defensive moves, she merely gave the whole room a withering, slow burn stare of contempt as she peeled the three foils tins from the front of her dress with dainty fingers and let them clatter to the floor.
No sooner had she looked back up from the floor where they fell, that Chef was ready with the fourth pie which he bought down atop Sarah’s head like a gooey hat. Cream, fruit filling and pastry crumbs rained down over the her shoulders and spattered everywhere, adding to the carnage in her cleavage. Sarah’s entire body shuddered.
Chef had the fifth and last pie in his hand now. He was bouncing it gently up and down in his palm, strolling casually toward the decimated female stooge. This was it, the grand finale. Everyone applauded, cheered and whistled as Sarah started to shake her head – No, please don’t – Chef just nodded. As he moved closer, Sarah shook her head harder. No, no please don’t. I’ve had enough…
Chef applied the pie. No huge impact, no big splash. Slowly, he pushed it against her face and just pressed. Moving his hand in a slow circle, he began to smear it around. Cream spread, fruit spilled, crumbs fell. Sarah just stood there and shuddered as Chef smothered to the left and to the right, slowly and cruelly. Everyone watching loved it and applauded the showmanship and silliness of it all.
Eventually, in the slowest movement of all, Chef slid the pie upwards to displace the foil tin already on Sarah’s head – this fell to the floor behind her with a loud splat as the new one was left in place. Sarah’s messy eyelashes blinked heavily for a few seconds before she began to wipe the gunk from her face and flick it to the floor with her fingers.
Sarah’s Dad stood up from the table, cleared his throat and tapped on his wine glass with an item of cutlery to gain attention.
“It’s always good to see the family together on an occasion like this. Sometimes we go to the pantomime, sometimes to the restaurant – but this year let’s all thank Sarah for bringing the spirit of panto right to our dining table. Three cheers for Sarah. Hip Hip!”
“Hooray!”; “Hip Hip!” “Hooray!; “Hip! Hip! Hooray!”
Sarah gazed dumbfounded at her cheering crowd, spat out a glace cherry, and said
“Err, Merry Christmas Everybody, I think…”