Sameena's Christmas Clean-up

Every interaction she shared with Katie so far suddenly clicked into place. She had made this innocent-sounding request so sweetly, in the same even tone as the last one -- like she was asking a tiny favour. Her face gave the game away completely, though. The contrast between her knowing look and her innocent voice spoke volumes about why Katie really wanted Sam to undress here and now.

Sam felt another tingle of adrenaline. It came from a similar place, mentally, as the previous ones, but this one felt different somehow. Shared, might be a good way of describing it. Sam felt a flush rising in her cheeks again, and she knew immediately that she was going to do it. The only doubt she had now was whether Katie was enjoying exerting this power over Sam or if she was just straight up trying to see her naked -- or close to. It didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. Either way, Sam was into it.

She couldn't bring herself to look Katie in the eye, but Sam did undress in front of her. She didn't really know much about giving a striptease, but she took her time, enjoying the variety of strong, conflicting emotions she felt, savouring them. Her heart was pounding by the time she got the last button of her shirt undone -- although there had only been three in the first place. She felt Katie's eyes on her instinctively, not needing to see them, and the feeling only got more intense as she unfastened the trousers. There was no need, nor room, to do make the same show of removing them again, but every inch she lowered them over her juicy thighs and shapely calves, seemed to set her heart racing even faster than it already was.

She eventually stood upright again, not quite feeling the courage of her convictions and entirely unsure of where to put her hands. She switched between folding them across her well-endowed chest, resting them on her hips and even linking them behind her back. When she realised the effect the latter was having on her posture, she removed it from the rotation.

'I'll just take those then, shall?' Katie asked in a slightly patronising tone, crouching to pick the Spurtley Hall uniform that Sam had simply left on the floor absently.

'Oh, sorry,' Sam blurted, still fidgeting uncomfortably.

'Don't worry about it. I'm enjoying the view.' Katie let that comment linger as she stood back up. 'Right, I'll be back in a minute. Don't go anywhere.'

Sam watched her leave with her own uniform and the hotel's, admitting to herself that she, too, was enjoying the view, though likely not quite as much as Katie enjoyed hers. She had no intention of going anywhere, anyway. She didn't know how many, if any, people were staying in the hotel, but the idea of bumping into customers in her current state of undress was not an appealing one. She was adrenaline-d out for the time being, and even the thought of facing Katie again was only bearable because it meant she would finally have some more clothes to put on.

The receptionist was only gone a matter of minutes, but for Sam it felt much longer. She still didn't know what to do, where to look, what parts of herself to attempt to cover up. Luckily, the place seemed to be properly deserted, so that by the time Katie did return with a fresh uniform, Sam was still totally alone.

'Here we go,' Katie said. 'I went two sizes up, just to be safe. No offence meant, but better to be loose and comfortable than uncomfortably tight.'

Sam couldn't quite believe how nonchalantly Katie was acting and it added a new ingredient into the cocktail over emotions she was feeling: inadequacy. Was her lingerie-clad body not worthy of more than just practical assistance and those earlier, somewhat judgemental, ocular pat-downs? It was all so confusing.

'Right,' she said lamely. 'Thanks.'

'I'll be off then,' Katie said as Sam started to dress yet again. 'You've got quite a job on your hands in there, I reckon, so maybe I'll see you in the morning if you're still here at six.'

'Thanks for you help,' Sam replied. 'I appreciate it.'

'Me too,' Katie said knowingly. 'Say hi to Lucy for me.'

Sam was halfway through pulling the new, better-fitting trousers into place when Katie dropped that bombshell. By the time she could her mouth around a coherent sentence to say 'excuse me,' Katie was already half-way to the hotel's main entrance.

'I said, say hello to Lucy for me. Oh, and have fun. Merry Christmas.' All of this was shouted from the doorway on her way out. Had she winked at that last part? Yet again, Sam couldn't be certain, but it certainly wouldn't have been out of character as far as Sam now knew Katie, nor would it have been inappropriate for what she had said.

Either way, Sam was alone again. Fully dressed this time, which was probably an improvement, but with an entire function room to tidy.

An entire function room full of half-eaten meals. Merry Christmas indeed, Sam thought. No wonder Lucy had been so insistent.

As luck would have it, the tidying of mundane objects like empty glasses, clean crockery and various scraps of garish wrapping paper didn't take too long. It gave Sam chance to wind down a little, regain some composure and generally just get her heart rate back under control. Few things extinguish the flames of arousal quite like vacuuming a large room. It wasn't long before she was bored, though, and at that point her mind started to wander again.

Katie was gone. Sameena was the only one here until six in the morning, and she would soon have most of the boring stuff in-hand. Of course, she needed to account for cleaning up after she had made a mess of herself, but that was a problem for Future Sam to deal with. She could work fast when the need arose, and she was already doing so in truth. The quicker she got this boring stuff out of the way, the quicker she get round to -- she paused that train of thought and glanced around the room for inspiration -- stuffing her bra with apple sauce and stuffing. How very appropriate.

Still, it was difficult for Sam to resist getting mucky as she went -- just to whet the appetite and keep her arousal ticking over. Indeed, she didn't resist for long, but she kept things simple and relatively subtle to begin with, finding enjoyment in the simplicity of scraping platefuls of food into a bin with her bear hands instead of using cutlery. It was her a little bit of that delinquent release she craved without causing her to break down and just start wantonly playing with herself right away. It made for a fun game of trying to maintain the balance between total monotony and utter depravity.

Things naturally amped up over time, though. What started as sloppy hands quickly devolved into sitting firmly, but carefully, onto half-full plates of gravy-soaked leftovers. Trying to continue normally while gravy and squished food slowly soaked through her skirt and knickers became an ever-increasing challenge. The moment she felt something wet and slimy -- she couldn't even be sure what it was -- touch her wet pussy, she knew the game was over. She couldn't resist any more. She had broken through her own defences and now she had to have more mess, all the mess, right now.

Sameena was sitting in someone's half-eaten dinner when she realised this. She glanced around eagerly for something to add to the mess, thoughts of her responsible, sensible plan abandoned in an instant. The first thing that came to hand was, unsurprisingly, another plate of leftovers. It was just slightly out of reach, which meant she needed to move to get it. That suited her just fine, and with a playful giggle she slit forward in her seat, causing the food-sludge under her arse to move and squelch. Whatever had hit her pussy -- probably gravy if she had to guess -- fully spurted up her slippery slit at this point, and she almost lost focus on the simple task of grabbing the next plate.

She got it, gripped it, then sat back again. The same squelching, slop shifting happened in reverse, and a whole load of mixed gunk sluiced between her buttocks instead. Part of her wanted to continue rocking back and forth in this manner, but she could do that any time, and there were so many other riches to explore. She eyed up the plate she had grabbed, only now looking at it properly and finding that it was more of the same -- leftovers vegetables slathered in gravy. Mashed potato featured prominently, but there were overcooked carrots that looked surprisingly promising amid what she assumed was bread sauce, what she knew was apple sauce, and what appeared to be cranberry sauce. Evidently this particular diner had valued quantity over culinary cohesion. That was fine by Sam, as she angled the plate into the neckline of her polo shirt and let it all slide off in one continuous, sluggish flow. It hit her cleavage with a heavy splat and spread out from there, filling the pretty bra she had chosen to wear. The stodgy, sludgy sensation against her nipples made her shiver, but Sam kept the plate in place until she had gotten everything it had to offer.

Even the shiver helped her get messier. The way it made her breasts jiggle, even slightly, caused the mixture of sauces and mushy vegetables to bounce too, massaging her stiff, sensitive nipples.

Any lingering sense of propriety disappeared there and then, and Sam quickly found herself looking around for more fuel. Damn subtlety and delayed gratification, she wanted something sloppy in her knickers and she wanted it now. Besides, she had started with savoury slop. If half-eaten dinners and cold, lumpy gravy hadn't given her pause, she doubted anything in the room would. Time to start grabbing and get pouring.

The next plate was more of the same, but in a different ratio. Gravy still dominated, but big clumps of bread sauce were everywhere. Cranberry and apple were scarcer, but it didn't matter to Sam: sticky slop was sticky slop. She hefted the plate in her left hand, fiddled with her skirt with her right until it dropped to the floor. No need for that now. It wasn't as if it was going to protect her dignity, not with what she had in mind. Her right hand, free again, held the elastic of her sheer briefs away from her stomach, and in went the plates contents.

This time, holding the plate vertically meant the slop hit the gusset of her knickers in one go and within a second. It could only go one way from there, and Sam cringed and giggled at the feeling of thick gunk running over her labia and between her arse cheeks. There is no way she could resist wriggling, didn't even try, and makes herself giggle again thanks to the feeling of the slop being shifted and bounced around her most sensitive, intimate body parts. Not wanting to get carried away too soon, she puts a little full stop on this plateful by firmly patting the front of her now-bulging knickers, which caused a minor explosion of mixed slop to force its way out of the leg holes.

She might have been trying to maintain some calm, but that didn't mean she wanted to let up on the mess. Scanning her surroundings, the next thing her eyes settle on is the first sweet of the night: a bowl of mushed up Christmas cake, slathered in lashings of some or other dairy product. Sam had it in her hands within seconds, and could smell the booze without trying. The cake didn't look particularly appetising, but then she wasn't intending to eat it. It did look a little more solid that she might have hoped for, however, so she opted to remedy that by lifting it up and squelching it in her fist. It gave way easily, satisfyingly soft and malleable.

She dropped it into the creamy, boozy mess. It looked more suitable for purpose now. But where to put it. Sam didn't want to spend too long thinking things over, so she put it in the first relatively clean place that came to mind. She held it awkwardly behind her back -- giving herself a sloppy, lumpy mini-wedgie in the process -- pulled the other side of her knickers away from herself and tilted the bowl upright. The result was instantaneous: lumpy, creamy slop ran right between her soft, round cheeks, and splattered into the mixed goo that already filled her knickers. Sam let out a little "oh" sound, followed by a muted squeal as she tried to keep quiet, followed by yet another giggle.

Her knickers were struggling at this point, bulging ridiculously and sagging under the weight of a variety of things they weren't designed to contain. Sam didn't properly notice this for a while, though. She was preoccupied with the intensely icky, somehow arousing feeling of all that gunk sloshing around her sensitive and sticky pussy. It wasn't just sticky from the food, either -- a fact of which she was much more keenly aware.

Tentatively at first, then with increasingly assured pressure, Sam started to prod the bulges in her own knickers. Each time one moved or squelched, she shuddered with a familiar mixture of bliss and repulsion. Every prod spurred her on to doing it again and before long she was just squishing bulges against her own cunt with the palm of her hand. It was one simple, quite natural step from there to masturbating through her food-soaked knickers -- a step she took eagerly.

Not yet, she told herself abruptly, realising just how easily she could get carried away. She knew she could make herself cum very easily, very quickly, but she wanted more. She wanted to be adding to her own destruction at the same time. Release would be fun, but it could be better. It wasn't perfect, not yet.

Scanning around, almost in desperation, her eyes landed on the whole grail -- a splosh classic: trifle. It was somewhat depleted, of course, but its imperfection was, in its own weird way, perfect. It was damaged goods, just like Sameena herself. She had to have it, consequences be damned. Cleaning up spilled jelly and custard would make her job significantly harder, but, she had already designated such issues to Future Sam.

She had to go get it, though. It was at the head of a long, fancy-looking table that ran most of the length of the suite she was supposed to be cleaning. Without further delay -- without opening the door to talk herself down -- she set off on hands and knees, revelling in the silliness and humiliation of crawling like an animal. It was a little rough on her knees, but worth it for the inimitable sensation of lumpy goo sloshing around her knickers and bra. The food she had stuffed into that bra stood no chance of staying there at this angle, and especially not when her breasts started swinging heavily beneath her. Every single crawled step was the same -- lumpy mess dislodged or displaced, rubbing intimately against her.

Amusingly, the final part of the journey was the messiest of all. The momentum of the mess continued even when Sam came to a halt, causing it to slap against the inside of her clothing. Then it moved once again as she got to her feet, a steady trickle of gunk running down her stomach where it had overflowed her bra. She had left a broken trail of miniature puddles behind, she noticed, but that was more trouble for Future Same. Present Sam had a date with a trifle to attend.

Sameena lifted the trifle bowl with something approaching reverence, like a sportswoman lifting her first trophy, and was surprised by the weight of the thing. She would need to be careful with it. It felt expensively heavy and looked impressively detailed. Certainly it would cost more to replace than she would earn from this job. Thank goodness for the perks, she thought to herself with a self-satisfied grin.

Less surprising was the fact that there was still plenty of trifle left. Judging by the amount of leftover main courses, few of the guests had had room for pudding. Fine by Sam -- all the more for her to play with. Not wanting to overthink things, she started by plunging one hand to the bottom of the bowl, getting a feel for the texture, literally, and enjoying the indulgent silliness of the whole experience. Her fingers wriggled and sprawled as they sank through fluffy, pliant cream, on through silky-smooth custard, past the mushy sponge fingers and super sticky strawberries and jam. She still hadn't entirely made her mind up where all of this was going to go, but she knew it was going to be an interesting mix of texture, at least.

Sam pulled her arm out, slathered in sweet goo up to the elbow. She was in danger of overthinking things and talking herself down, but she had an idea of how to handle the trifle that wouldn't go away. If she didn't want to risk breaking it, lifting it and pouring it didn't seem ideal. She would have to bring herself to the trifle as opposed to bringing the trifle to her. It was head-dunking time.

In all of Sam's messy sessions so far, she couldn't easily remember giving herself a proper head-dunking. Having done her research, she knew that was something she needed to remedy, and what better time than now? She glanced around, thinking about the mess it would make, trying to put obstacles in her own way. What if Katie came back? Forgot her keys or something.

No. Fuck it. She positioned herself beside the huge bowl, took a deep breath, and pushed her face into the slimy abyss. She went slowly but steadily, needing to be careful of the glassware but wanting to get as deep as she could. The creamy top layer gave no resistance at all, nor did the custard, though she enjoyed the tell-tale change in texture. The custard was luxuriously smooth and Sam took her time pushing through that part, becoming very aware of the fact that if anybody did come back, they would find her craning over the trifle dish with her arse right up in the air, and that it would only get higher from here.

She pressed on regardless, her nose pushing past the soft but still solid, mushy sponge, her head now totally engulfed in slop. She had to adjust her positioning in order to facilitate her need to reach the bottom of the bowl. She was half-standing, half-crouching by the time she felt the solid glass with her nose. Her face was right in the sticky jam and mushy strawberries at this point, and she twisted it from side to side, feeling the sticky resistance, focusing on it. Her hand made its way between her sticky thighs, and the moment was almost perfect except for one thing. She was totally out of breath.

Disappointed, Sam pulled back out, taking care not to flick her hair back like a shampoo advert and flick mess all over the place. Her heart was pounding in her ears, though, and she could feel the fact that the slop was running off her face and down her chest. She cupped her breasts, squelching the slop that had collected in her bra and taking great satisfaction in the way it overflowed. Her enjoyment was helped by the fact that she was able to squeeze her nipples with decent accuracy thanks to the flimsy nature of the fabric.

Sam needed to get back in there. She needed to cum with her face down in the bottom of that sticky monstrosity. Nobody could see her, she knew logically, and if she was totally honest she would love someone to come in and take advantage of the vulnerable position she was putting herself in. That image was all the convincing she needed -- a second later, she was plunging her face into the already-ruined trifle. She was still somewhat careful, but there was a frantic eagerness to her movements now, and her hand was between her thighs before she even fully submerged her face.

Her fingering -- still through the sloppy knickers -- was similarly frantic and similarly controlled. It was making life under the trifle difficult, but she was determined to finish up like this -- an absurd mess, face-down in someone's discarded pudding, arse up in the air. Not for the first time in her WAM life, nor the first time today, she imagined being walked in on. What an image she would make. She could picture the utter bafflement, the nervous laughter turning and bafflement fading into more genuinely amused, appalled chuckling. Both humiliating in their own way -- both delicious. This was extremely inappropriate behaviour, after all, and that thought was what finally pushed her over the edge.