Gunge Grand Prix 2017(?!) Nominations Open!

Good evening everyone,

I have been debating all week about whether I should do this, but as it’s December, and Christmas soon, I’ve decided to treat you all with an early present. Therefore, I can confirm that nominations for the 2017 Gunge Grand Prix are now…..OPEN!!!

Why now? After all, it’s still 2016, and we haven’t even decided what the winning story of the 2016 competition is yet. Well, I happen to have a small window of free time to take on nominations. On top of that, it also give me ample time to get the pages in place ready for the 1st Round to kick off on January 26th 2017, when I will have 6 weeks without university to do all the necessary admin.

So that’s the explanation, now for the rules. Please read these carefully as there are some changes from 2016, which are in bold:

  1. The nominee must be female and ‘well known’. By that I mean that I don’t need to go to page 37 on Google to find out who they are.
  2. As winner of the 2016 competition, Jenna Louise Coleman can’t be nominated this year.
  3. The nominee must be at least 18 years old as of 26th January 2017. As such, each nominee is taken as being such age on that date, and the associated looks (with leeway for such things as pregnancy/accidents).
  4. Each person may nominate up to 20 people only. Failure to follow this rule may result in nomination rights being removed. (Also note that Tellygunge or myself may check for sockpuppetry, which is against site rules anyway, and this will result as a violation of this rule). All nominations can be submitted in one go.
  5. People may nominate until the ajudicator (me) says they have reached the total of 512 names (although I shall keep you informed of how many names have been nominated so far via my twitter account @phd2207).
  6. Upon the checking process, any repeats at that stage will be changed by the ajudicator. The list will then be double checked by a willing admin (TG, wanna volunteer for that task?).

People have stated previously they would like to submit their own photos of their nominees, and I’m more than happy to facilitate this. Therefore if you wish to submit photos of your nominees please do either one of the following:

  1. Email them to, putting the nominee’s name in the file name to avoid identification issues.
  2. Post a link to the necessary photo on your comment next to the name of the relevant nominee.

That is all for now. Please get commenting below with your nominations and I will try to update once a day with numbers so far via my twitter account @phd2207.

Thanks, and get nominating

Posted in Stories | 84 Comments

Gunge Grand Prix 2016: Story Vote Open!

Evening All,

Story entries for the 2016 Gunge Grand Prix have now closed, and I’m pleased to say we have two entries. To save you having to scroll down for all eternity, I have attached the two stories in word documents below:



For the interests of the vote, the authors will remain anonymous until the winner is announced. The vote is now open, and will close at roughly this time on 14th December. The vote can be accessed via the Gunge Grand Prix 2016 tab.

Happy reading, and happy voting!

Posted in Stories | 2 Comments

The Wammies 2016 – nominations open!


That time has rolled round again – our annual thanksgiving for the great and gooey that has graced this year. It’s the Wammies!

As usual, awards are up for grabs in the following categories:

  • Best celebrity wamming for a female public figure who got wet or messy in 2016.
  • Best WAM show for a commercial programme (TV or online) that consistently produced good scenes.
  • Best civilian WAM for media of ordinary people getting wet or messy for ordinary reasons.
  • The Holy Grail Award for the turn-up of a classic scene, where either the scene wasn’t previously available or the quality or length is significantly improved.
  • The Goolitzer Prize for a work or series of works in WAM literature or art, published here or elsewhere.
  • The Showercap of Shame for the biggest downer of the year, be it a gutting escape, a lame scene that didn’t deliver to its potential, or an event that negatively impacted the community.

Nominations will be open for approximately three weeks, after which the nominees will be put to public vote. You may make as many nominations as you wish.

Reminder: As per the site rules, all nominations must be age 16+

Posted in Stories | 21 Comments


Author’s note: A short story loosely based on something I wrote for Wam Story Archive a long, long time ago before it got shut down.

Dating a woman of his own wealth sometimes proved to be tiring. On one hand, it was advised that he did, for she had money of her own and thus no interest in his. She was with Ian because she liked him. On the other hand, Victoria was materialistic, self absorbed and cared far too much about her appearance. Thankfully it wasn’t a loveless relationship; he did care for her very much. Every now and then he considered proposing to her. Though he supposed love didn’t come without its annoyances. Everyone did indeed have their own faults, after all– no one was perfect. As close as she was and tried to be, she wasn’t, but neither was he. His main flaw was impatience.

It was a flaw that often clashed with Victoria’s flaw of vanity, for she took ages getting ready. Always the perfectionist, she spent hours making sure every meticulous detail was right. However, tonight was Ian’s birthday and she was, once again, late. Most people of his status and money usually threw spectacular evenings for their birthdays, inviting all of their many friends, the whole ordeal. Ian preferred something in-between. The layout of food was what people would see at a large party, but it was just him and his girlfriend tonight. He simply wanted to spend time with her. But, of course, she was two hours late. Another one of Victoria’s flaws; she was inconsiderate.

When she eventually showed, he rose from the sofa and briskly walked towards the door. His butler went to do it, and Ian would usually let him, but he wanted to answer the door for Victoria. Opening the door, he wore a smirk, allowing her inside.

“Nice of you to finally show.” he commented. Look at her, he thought. That dark hair pinned up flawlessly, her makeup accentuating her face, eyeshadow and eyeliner bringing her blue eyes to pop like sapphires. And that dress, that beautiful dress with a matching earring and necklace set. The black and gold palate of her attire and jewelry looked stunning on her, and Ian was sure she spent a good while coordinating everything to match. Victoria was young, but she was the type of woman who acted older than she was; all regal and sophisticated.

“I was getting your present. I know I should’ve got it beforehand, but I couldn’t decide what to get you.” Victoria insisted, taking off her coat and then showing the wrapped gift as an example.

“So, you put it off to the last minute then?” he asked as he closed the door behind her.

“Don’t put it like that. You don’t even care about gifts, in fact, you always tell me not to get them for you.”

“You’re right.” Ian chuckled. “So if getting a gift had been a hassle, you should’ve just forgot it and come without one. That way, you wouldn’t be late.”

She glanced up at him with an accusatory expression. “Is that what this is about?”

“Yes, darling.” Ian muttered. “I try not to complain too much about it, but I have missed you. It’s been a week since I’ve seen you and there’s no one I’d rather spend my birthday with. See, I’m even wearing a suit for you.”

Victoria raised a brow, her own lips curving upwards. “I see. That’s because you’re rather handsome in a suit. It looks lovely on you.” She always thought he was ruggishly handsome, with his beard and his thick, curly black hair and him often wearing a simple shirt and jeans. He did clean up rather nicely though; his beard was actually classy and well groomed, and damn did he look fantastic in a suit and tie.

“You care too much about looks, Tori.” he told her with a short laugh, before turning and walking with her towards the dining room. “How long did you spend getting ready tonight?”

The question surprised her. “Does it matter?”

“Not really.” he admitted. “But I’m curious.”

“It’s not important, Ian.”

Victoria sat down in the chair he pulled out for her, before Ian went to the other side of the table and sat across from her. After setting her present down on the table, she was looking in awe of the display Ian had set up. There was such an assortment of sweets: pies, pastries,  a rather large two-tiered cake.

“You really went all out, didn’t you? Someone have a sweet tooth?”

“Somewhat. Mostly, it’s for you– I know how much you love sweets. Even if you try to hide it.”

Victoria glanced up from the desserts and at Ian. “What?”

“Oh, I know. You want everyone to think that you are above eating sugar because of how bad it is for you, blah blah blah. I’ve seen your candy bar wrapper stash in your purse.”

“You went through my purse?” she asked with furrowed brows.

“That one time when you asked me to hand it to you? It was open, and yes, I took a quick peek before giving it.”

A tiny scoff, before a sigh. “But why have all of this for me even though it’s your birthday, not mine?”

“Because I’m happy that you’re here with me and I wanted you to enjoy yourself. Because I wanted to show you how much I appreciate you.”

“Oh.” Victoria looked across the table at him, slightly baffled. Then she saw Ian smirk again.

“Funny, though, you sometimes lack that same appreciation of me.” Victoria was a good woman, she really was, but she was selfish. He supposed he could be selfish at times too. “So, how long did it take you to get ready?” Another one of his flaws was being stubborn.

Victoria gave an annoyed laugh. “Is that what that whole guilt trip speech was about? It’s not that important; I’m not telling you.” She was stubborn as he was. Folding her arms, her eyes followed him as he rose from his seat and went to stand by her side.

He went to undo the pins from her hair, watching it fall into brunette ringlets against her shoulders. “So, you curled your hair, and then put it up? God, how long the hair must’ve taken on it’s own. You don’t have to do all that, you know.”

She glared up at Ian now, frustrated with his persistence. “You know, not everything has to be simple and without effort. Not everyone is lazy.”

It wasn’t so much as she struck a cord, or perhaps she did, but it was mainly the fact that both of them were too stubborn and set in their ways, and he found her obsession with her appearance, her vanity, her perfectionism to be, at times, very annoying. Ian took one of the chocolate cream pies into his hands and flipped it over onto the top of her head.

Victoria gasped in disbelief, frozen in shock as cream and chocolate engulfed her hair. It dripped down onto her nose, a bit of the broken crust sliding down her hair and down the back of her dress. Ian only laughed though.

“And not everything, Victoria, has to be so tense and uptight. We can just not care so much and have fun.” he told her.

Gasping, hands slowly touching her hair, Victoria lightly pressed her fingers into the cream. A chill went up her spine. She was cringing, blushing, absolutely embarrassed. “Four hours.” she huffed.

“Is that how long getting ready took?” he asked with a grin.

“Yes.” Victoria snarled.

“Well here.” Ian murmured and picked up another pie, only to smash it into her face. Victoria squirmed and squealed trying to get away from it as he rubbed it into her features. When he pulled it away, she looked mortified. Pie covered her face, running down her neck and into her lap.

“You are acting like a child.” she muttered, wiping cream from her eyes as she sat there in devastation.

“Well, at least I’m having fun.” he spoke with a grin. “Come on, Tori, lighten up a bit. It’s just food. Harmless. See, look.”

“Don’t you dare, don’t you dare!” she screeched as he lifted her up from her chair and onto the table, setting a pie right under her so she would sit into it. She squeaked, before he gently pushed her down and rubbed her face into the cake in the center of the table. “Mmpf!” Her head sunk into the icing and her noises of displeasure were muffled. Ian chuckled as he gave her face a good smear into the frosting, before letting her fall against the table, Victoria’s torso landing in the cake as well.

Lifting her head, a whimper escaped her, her hands trying to push herself up out of the cake. Her neck, arms, chest were plastered with cake and frosting as she lied there, but it was her face that was the most thickly covered. “This was a very expensive gown.” she muttered, feeling humiliated.

“I’ll by you a new one.” Ian assured. Victoria finally managed to sit up again, though she soon found herself underneath a flow of chocolate. Ian had ditched the salad from the salad bowl and filled it up from the chocolate fountain when she hadn’t been looking. She shrieked, squirming with the horrible sensation of chocolate streaming down her head and face, quickly dripping onto the rest of her.

“Ian!” she huffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands when the deluge finally stopped. “Why are you doing this?” she spoke with the tone of commanding an answer.

“Because you know what, it’s fun. You know, like when we were kids, it was fun to get messy. As an adult, weirdly enough, this is kind of attractive.”

“I never got messy as a child.” she scoffed.

“Ohhhh. Wow, that explains a lot.” Ian laughed.

Victoria let out a cry of anger and got a handful of cake to toss at him. “This is fun to you? I can’t even understand that, let alone how this could possibly be attractive. I must look awful right now.”

He didn’t even try dodging when the cake was flung at him, it hitting his face with a smack. Ian licked his lips. “Yes, it’s fun. C’mon, try it. Throw some more at me.”

Pursing her lips, she continued to glare at her boyfriend, but throwing something else at him was tempting. With another huff, she picked up a pie and went to stand up on the table. Aiming to throw it, her foot slipped on the puddle of chocolate and she fell. Ian hurried to catch Victoria in his arms, and she landed safely in them. Except that the pie she held in her hand was now self-squished into her own face. “Augh!” Shaking her head, she threw the pie tin to the floor as Ian gently set her down in the chair. Victoria quickly rose to her feet, however. “This is horrible. I’m an absolute mess and it’s all your fault!”

Ian only continued to grin at her, handing her another pie. “Then have a go at me. C’mon, Tori.”

Holding back another whimper as one of her hands was feeling how thickly her head was covered in dessert, her other hand held another pie. Victoria glanced down at it. Her  attention was soon back up to Ian’s face. She walked closer to him, raising the pie and firmly pushing it against his face. For extra measure, she rubbed it in a bit before letting the tin drop. She looked up at him, still frowning. Victoria tried gaining composure.

Ian, on the other hand, was laughing. He licked his lips again and blinked cream away from his eyes, gazing at Victoria. “Oh come on. Don’t tell me you don’t think this is amusing at all.”

“It’s not.” Victoria insisted as she began wiping the thick layer of chocolate covered frosting and pie off her face, although when she looked up again at him, a slight smile cracked onto her lips.

“Really?” he questioned again with a smirk. “Seeing me with pie all over my face, that’s not funny in the least?”

“Stop.” she spoke again, her smile widening as Ian made a face, which looked absolutely ridiculous underneath that cream. Ian then smashed an eclair into her hair as an extra texture, before he picked up a cupcake and squished it against Victoria’s face. She squirmed, even more so as he grabbed another one and rubbed it in. “Alright, alright, it is!” she exclaimed, right as he brought another cupcake inches away from her nose.

“It is, what?” he asked teasingly.

Victoria rolled her eyes. “It is amusing.” she finally admitted. She then gasped as Ian smashed the cupcake against her nose anyway.

“Good,” he remarked. “Because I do find this to be rather sexy. You, a complete mess.”

“Why? That doesn’t make sense.” she scoffed, her nails scraping the pastry crust from her hair.

“Not sure exactly. Maybe something to do with how obsessive you are about your looks, so seeing you all messy is a pleasant change.”

“I hate you.” Victoria pouted.

“Love you too, darling.”

Fishing chocolate-coated crumbs of cake out of her cleavage, she sighed in defeat.

“Also,” Ian spoke. “I don’t appreciate being called effortless and lazy. I put a lot of effort into my company and the things I invent.”

She looked up at him, a brow raising. “Had that offended you?” Victoria asked in surprise. “I know you’re not. I was just… you know I say things out of frustration. Your inventions are amazing. I apologize.”

“Thank you.” Ian smiled. “Hold on just one minute.” He left the room to approach the kitchen, and Victoria turned around cautiously.

“Ian? What are you doing?” she asked in horrified anticipation. When he came back, he had a bulk-sized bucket of chocolate fudge. Her eyes widened in shock. “Ian! No no no no…” She heard the snap of the container opening and shrieked when she felt Ian’s hand on the back of her head. He dunked her head into the bucket, making sure it was covered completely, before pulling her head out of it and then pouring the remaining fudge down her dress. The fudge was so rich and sticky. It persistently clung to every inch of her face and hair. It ran down her dress like a thick sludge.  “Ew… ew…ewww…” she whimpered.

“Now your apology is accepted.” he teased as the bucket was emptied. Grinning in amusement, he very willingly took the backlash consisting of Victoria throwing fudge and pieces of smashed cake at him.

Posted in Food (fights), Pies, Stories | 4 Comments

Ketnet Kingsize two mothers

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Posted in Stories | Leave a comment

Sarah’s Christmas Family Meal

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…”
The End.



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