Sam's Saga 05: Sameena The Model

Sameena sighed as she closed the front door behind her. She flipped her shoes off, not bothering to put them on the rack, and sagged onto the settee. It had been another long, soul-destroying day at work. Christmas was just round the corner, and, while she was looking forward to spending time with her family, she had to take all the extra shifts she could find in order to fund present shopping.

She felt around for the TV remote, too exhausted to move more than her arm. Her hand clasped around something approximately remote-shaped but her fingers found no rubbery buttons. With a sigh, she lifted it to her face, seeing that it was in fact her phone. The message icon was lit up, however. She must have gotten a text while she was moving from the car to her house. It was from her boss, Frank:

Hey Sam got some extra work you might be interested in. Not cleaning.

Sam let her phone roll out of her hand, onto the table. I'll deal with it later, or better yet, tomorrow, she told herself. I need food.

Peeling herself off the settee with some reluctance, she headed to the kitchen. Her phone buzzed behind her, rattling on the glass table top. She picked it up and read another message:

Need to know soon. Job this weekend. Well paid.

Sam put her phone back down again, but found herself thinking about the message while she prepared dinner. If it wasn't more cleaning maybe it wouldn't be so bad. She did need the money, after all. Frank had a seedy air about him, but apart from the surprise at the work night out, he had never pulled anything too dodgy. Still, she found it difficult to entirely trust him.

What kind of work?

She hit reply and got back to stirring her ragu.

The phone didn't buzz again until she was sat in front of the TV, flicking through endless channels of crap with one hand while the other speared slippery fusilli. She lurched forward instinctively, forgetting about the pasta dish in her lap. Pasta and red sauce tumbled in every direction, soaking through her thin, tight leggings and the bottom half of her work t-shirt. Sam groaned with frustration, cursing her own clumsiness. She felt the greasy sauce moving around as she crouched and begun scooing up the spilled pasta to place back in its bowl.

Meanwhile, the sauce had soaked right through to her knickers and, as she stood to pick pasta bits off the settee, it squelched into the souls of her feet too. The food was ruined and she would have to get changed, all because of a stupid text.

Carefully, she put the bowl of inedible pasta back on the table. Next, she pulled the half-soaked t-shirt over her head and flung it in the general direction of the washing basket. Her leggings followed, but standing there in her underwear, she soon realised that her outer clothing had only been the start of her problems. Pasta sauce was smeared across her flat stomach and stained the front of her previously-white thong.

Despite her frustration, she had to stifle a giggle. It had been a long time she had gotten messy by choice. Perhaps she had done this to herself, subconsciously, as a reminder to take a breather once in a while. The way the sauce had soaked through her skimpy underwear did feel nice, she had to admit. Almost without thinking, she pushed her bare foot through the sauce puddle, wriggling her toes as she went.

An idea grabbed her and wouldn't let go. I should just get messy and enjoy myself, she thought. I can tidy up later. I could do with some stress relief right now.

That was that. Sam lowered herself to the flood, making sure her round ass cheeks landed squarely in the spilt sauce. One hand went to her slippery thong while the other reached for the bowl. She immediately began massaging her clitoris while staring into the spaghetti, contemplating what was to come. A self-professed WAM veteran at this point, Sam knew the build up to the mess was just as important as the act of getting mess. She held the bowl close to her face, staring at the gooey, worm-like strands of pasta, reminding herself that most of it had already been on the floor. She was going to cover herself in waste food. Her breathing quickened at that, as did the fingers inside her damp thong.

She held the bowl there, teasing herself, mocking herself internally, waiting for the right moment. The more she thought about it, the faster that moment came. A brief moment later, she felt ready to burst. Now, she thought. As the first throes of orgasm started to wash over, Sam upended the bowl of spaghetti over her head. She made sure there was plenty of room for it to wriggle into her thong, but beyond that she simply let it land wherever it wanted. She groaned noisily as she came -- long, breathy groans. Her whole body seemed to join in tense up and relax over the course of a few, all too brief seconds. She tossed the bowl aside and roughly smeared pasta and sauce into her skin, crushing a handful as she finally finished up. The ball of mushed-up pasta flopped from her open hand to the floor as her entire body slumped, exhausted and overwhelmed.

It had only taken her a minute or two, but the sense of relief she felt was incredible. She had needed this. Now, of course, she had to clean up, but it didn't seem like such a chore.

*

Once the cleaning had been done and her soiled clothing had been put in the wash, Sam could face reality a little more easily. It was almost time for bed, but she picked up her phone to see what the cause of the evening's entertainment had actually been.

TBH Sam it's modelling. A bit like that wrestling but u get paid. Well paid.

Despite being home alone, Sam almost laughed out loud. Part of her wanted to jump at the opportunity to get paid for getting messy. Part of her thought it was typical of Frank. Another part of her, though, thought it was a bad idea. Sam knew she was a good looking woman, but posing for something like this required a different sort of confidence. Still, after the episode at the takeaway, this wouldn't be the first time someone had seen her being filthy.

She wanted to be convinced, she realised. She wanted to say yes, but she needed talking into it. She hit the reply button on her phone screen:

What does well paid mean exactly? What would I have to do?

Sam browsed facebook and waited for a reply. She was not surprised when Frank's reply came almost immediately.

I knew you'd be interested ;) Nothing too crude, breasts out if you're okay with it, lingerie if you're not. More money for topless ofc. You've definitely got the goods.

She rolled her eyes as she read the last part but the needle on her internal slut-o-meter was starting to tick from "maybe" into "where do I sign?"

Lets just say I need the cash. How does this work? Who's doing it? Where and when?

Again, the reply was near instantaneous.

I'll get them to email you the details. Cash in hand is all I know.

That was ideal. She didn't want to make a career out of this, so the less people who knew about it the better, especially if the taxman was one of those in the dark. It all sounded very seedy, but then what else would she expect? The owner of the cleaning firm she worked for had asked her to star in softcorn porn, filmed by a mate of his: it's not as if Tom Cruise was co-starring.

That was the end of the exchange for the evening, though. Frank didn't know anything else about it, or wasn't letting on if he did and Sam couldn't think of anything else useful to ask with that being the case. She would just have to wait for an email, presumably some time the next day.

*

Hi Sameena, the email began.

My name is Henry. Frank gave me your email address and told me you might be interested in starring in a video. Great! Asian models are hard to come by and Frank tells me you're a stunner. Why don't you send me a few pictures (tasteful, I don't want to get off on the wrong foot) so I can see what I'd be working with. In the meantime I've included a link to my UMD store so you can see what you're getting into.

Cheers, Henry.

Sam's first instinct was to click on the link, so she did. She liked what she found, though it was a little tame for her tastes. It was mostly large-breasted women in their underwear being pied, having custard poured over them and, occasionally, getting their knickers filled with cream or some such. Sam usually preferred things a little racier, but given that she would be starring in one it was a bit of a relief to see them being so mundane. About half of the models got their breasts out but that was as far as it went. It was a bit too wholesome for Sam to really get turned on by, but it seemed like they were having fun.

Satisfied with what she had seen, Sam pressed reply and started to write:

Hey Henry.

I watched your clips and I think I can handle that. Is it rude to ask about fees already? I'm new to this.

She attached a couple of pictures -- flattering and sexy, but all fully clothed -- and pressed Send.

Sam was up early for work, but so was Henry, it seemed. His response arrived in her inbox while she on her way to a nearby office she cleaned twice a week. She managed to ignore her excitement until she arrived, at which point she started tapping at her phone before she had even turned off her car's engine.

Haha, no, it can be good to get it out the way sometimes. We offer a flat rate of £200 per video. It will take up about an hour of your time if you include a pretty thorough shower. No reshoots or anything, unless it goes drastically long. It's all amateur stuff, basic. Not really even a script. You just have to sit there and let us cover you in gunk. Some girls even enjoy it. If you're interested, let's talk times and dates.

Sam could hardly believe it was so simple, but like he said, it was very much amateur. Most of the wet and messy stuff she had watched online had been amateur and, while it showed, it did have a certain charm that bigger budget porn lacks.

£200 for an hour's work was nothing to sniff at either. It smelled even better when you were going to get paid for doing your hobby, Sam thought, making her mind up.

I'm free next Saturday. Where do you want me?

She thought that was a funny term to use as she sent the email back. She smiled to herself: probably not the last time I'll be using it with this guy.

*

Saturday couldn't come soon enough. Her job was boring at the best of times, but the week really dragged on when the near future held such delight. When the weekend did finally arrive, Sameena wasn't sure which she felt most: excitement or anxiety.

She had arranged to meet Henry at his studio (really a small warehouse he rented whenever he had video work to do) around three. Conflicting emotions meant that lunch was out of the question. Her stomach was tied up in knots and even the thought of a sandwich made her queasy. She hadn't been so nervous in a long time.

On the car ride over, Sam's mind kept wondering what Henry might have her do. She had seen his work now and was fairly sure it would be a simple enough task, but what if he was hard to work with? What if he tried to pressure her into doing something she didn't want to? What if he started getting creepy and weird? The warehouse, by its nature, wasn't in a well-populated area. She thought about turning around and cancelling, but the money was too good. Anyway, she told herself, at least Frank knew where she was going. This guy had obviously done enough videos that he must have a reasonable reputation with the models.

Even by the time she arrived, Sam had yet to properly make up her mind. She turned the engine off and looked at her phone: quarter to three, it read. She opened up Henry's original email and clicked on the first video link. Fast-forwarding to the good stuff, she imagined herself in the model's position. The thought of that lusciously thick, silky custard against her pale brown skin was very persuasive. By the time the young woman's knickers were bulging with rice pudding, Sam's mind was made up.

She was surprised to find herself shivering as she got out of the car. Henry hadn't given her any instruction of what to wear so she had wrapped up warm against the winter chill and dressed sexy underneath her biggest coat. She was plenty warm, having had the heating turned up for the duration of the car journey so the shiver was one of excitement, she realised.

She slammed the car door behind her and set off for the warehouse entrance.

It was three on the dot when she found it. Someone -- Henry, she assumed -- was waiting for her in tiny, poorly-heated lounge. The room was stark, but his grin was warm as he greeted her.

"Sam?" he beamed. "I'm Henry. Great to meet you."

"Likewise," answered Sam. Uncertain of the etiquette. Fortunately, Henry took the lead.

"I've got the studio set up through there," he said, pointing to the only other door apart from the one Sam had entered by. "it's not much, but it does the job. Can I take your coat? Let's get a look at you in the flesh, so to speak."

Sam removed her coat, already feeling much more at ease than she had on the ride over. She enjoyed watching Henry's expression change as she revealed her outfit. An obscenely short, tan-coloured skirt barely covered her hips, let alone her thighs, which were clad in sheer tights. A white work shirt was scantly buttoned, exposing most of her cavernous cleavage. It was untucked, giving the outfit an overall look of something like a dishevelled secretary.

"Oh, and these," reaching into her bag. She pulled out a pair of shiny, black heels. Not fancy enough to ruin the theme but sexy enough to be interesting. Certainly they had been inappropriate for driving.

Henry's enjoyment of her outfit reveal had boosted Sam's confidence to its normal level. She sat on the only other chair in the room and slipped off the flats she had worn to drive in. She leaned forward to slip her heels on, exposing even more of her bust to her gawping, one-man audience. She took her time wriggling her foot into it, making sure to sway her breasts as much as possible.

"You're a natural," Henry said, licking his bottom lip.

"You're too kind. Are the tights a problem? It's cold out but I can lose them now I'm here."

"Oh, no. The tights are great. Plenty of blokes love 'em. We'll probably get a few foot shots during the shoot so we want them to look their best."

"Ah, a bit of toe wriggling in the gunk?"

"Exactly," replied Henry. "Exactly. You obviously studied my work."

"I'm a fan of the genre."

Henry laughed. "Alright then, through here. Ladies first. Just go and take a seat in front of the camera over there while I set her up."

Sam did as she was told, sitting on a lone wooden chair, adjusting her skirt in order to leave something to the imagination. It didn't really work, but the camera angle Henry settled on wouldn't give too much to begin with. She crossed her legs and turned in her seat a little, exposing plenty of thigh.

"Perfect," said Henry. "Right, the mess is on that trolley over there. There are basically two ways we can do this." He stepped away from the camera and whipped a white bedsheet off the trolley with a flourish, revealing a multitude of foodstuffs. "I can leave the camera as is and pour, fling and splat, or I can work the camera properly and let you splosh yourself. You seem like you know what you're doing."

"What do you recommend?"

"Well, both styles have their fans, and it's entirely up to you, but I think it's sexier if you do it to yourself. It also means I can get some close-ups and the like."

"You mean you don't want to ruin me yourself?" Sam teased.

"If you keep that attitude up when the camera is rolling you're going to be a star. Well, a WAM star."

"Where should I start? Any recommendations?"

"Just do what you want to do. People can tell when someone is really enjoying it. Do whatever feels natural."

"Natural," said Sam, reaching for a plastic pot of yoghurt. "Got it."

"Camera rolling," said Henry. "Before you start though, why don't you give us a sexy little introduction? My name is Sam and I love to get messy, that kinda thing. Into camera."

Sam looked directly into the camera, brimming with confidence now, and purred: "Hi, guys. My name is Sameena and I love to get dirty. I can't wait to ruin myself for you. Would you like that?"

She saw Henry silently mouthing "wow" and giving her a thumbs up as she flicked her neck, tossing her lustrous black hair sexily and pouting for the camera.

She took the thumbs up as a signal to start. She hesitated briefly, unsure of exactly how to begin until she remembered Henry's advice. At home she would probably start with the biggest target: her breasts. Hefting the container above her chest, she tipped it and started to pour, letting the thick yoghurt ooze out across her breasts, slowly coating them white. She supressed a shiver as the cold gunk worked its way into her bra, hardening her nipples almost immediately. Then, looking directly into the camera, she dropped the yoghurt pot and squeezed her breasts together through her sodden shirt. Yoghurt oozed out over the top and seeped through the flimsy cotton, and dribbled downwards.

Henry gave her another thumbs up and silently mouthed "carry on," by way of reassurance.

Sam was hitting her stride now, though, and needed no encouragement. Unfastening the last few buttons of her shirt with one hand, she reached for the trolley with another. Not bothering to look round, she wrapped her fingers around a tin of what turned out to be rice pudding.

Feeling the satisfying weight in her hand, she showed it to the camera and purred into it: "mmm, this looks delicious, but I bet it would look even better on me, don't you think?"

With that, she lifted the already-opened tin above her head, tilted her face towards it, and emptied its contents. It took a shake or two to dislodge, so thick was the pudding, but eventually it fell from the tin in one thick, sticky lump with a "fwomp." It stayed put for a moment, one solid mass of gooey pudding, before collapsing and spreading out all over her pretty face, coating it completely. To the camera she had become an almost unrecognisable heap of sweet mess. To Sam, it was bliss. Any nerves had disappeared by this point and she was loving every second of it. The way the rice pudding engulfed her features was bliss.

Alas, the tin was empty, and the pudding was slowly shifting downwards. She knuckled her eyes somewhat clean and reached eagerly for more food. This time her hand fell on a tin of cheap, supermarket spaghetti.

Clearly getting into the swing of things, Sam spread her thighs and held the waistband of her white knickers with the thumb of her left hand. She had chosen knickers rather than her usual thong for the occasion. Knicker-filling was her favourite part of getting messy and although she preferred the look and feel of a thong, proper knickers were going to give her more space to fill.

Fill them she did, letting the spaghetti slither over the edge of the tin like some sort of thin, sauce-soaked worms. She loved the feeling of the way the strands wriggled and writhed against her pussy. Every time she shifted even an inch, the whole mass of orange slop shifted with her, teasing her. She would have had a difficult time not just reaching in there to do more than just tease herself, but she knew she needed to take her time. She resisted the urge and reached for another container. Even such a small movement made the pasta shift and wriggle, so she decided to go along with it. She turned all the way around, making the bulge in her knickers sway with the momentum, and lifted her tiny skirt to reveal her large, shapely buttocks to the camera.