Sam's Saga 06: Samta Clause

'Thanks for doing this, Sam,' Frank said, inclining his head towards Sam but never taking his eyes off the rain-wet road. 'I knew you'd help me out.'

'I need the money' Sameena replied, only telling half the truth. The other half was that she had been looking for another opportunity to get messy ever since her modelling debut. That kind of work didn't come up often, and, although it really did pay better than her day job as a cleaner, the truth was that she enjoyed it. She enjoyed getting messy and enjoyed getting messy with an audience, or risk of getting an audience, even more.

She had gotten some extremely odd looks on the bus, the evening Frank's text arrived in her inbox. Where Sam lived, much like anywhere else, keeping yourself to yourself was the number one rule of etiquette on public transport. So when she had cried out 'oh, yes!' on the bus home from work one drizzly November evening, she had quickly mumbled an apology to no-one in particular but had been unable to keep the smile from her face.

'Well, whatever, you're doing me and Henry a big favour. I didn't tell you in the text, but we did have someone else line up to begin with. But the bitch dropped out at the last minute and Henry had already paid for the studio time.'

Sam ignored the fact that she had been second choice - she was new to this, after all - and reassured him that it was fine. Obviously she didn't want to give away too much. Frank was a decent bloke most of the time, but when it came to business he learned everything he knew from Ebenezer Scrooge. If he found out that she enjoyed this kind of thing he would definitely try and reduce her fee somehow.

Besides, as much as she liked the idea of showing off, it wasn't a matter of flashing her tits to the likes of Frank. The 'might' in might get caught was where half the thrill came from. Ideally it would be by someone far better-looking than Frank if it did happen. Short, bald and in his late 50's, the polite way of describing how attractive he seemed to Sam was "not my type." On top of that, she would rather keep her kinks to herself, or, at least, to her and the odd stranger here and there who may have seen her. Internet perverts didn't count, of course. The smart ones would assume she did it for the money and wasn't interested in the lifestyle and, smart or dumb, she would never meet any of them anyway.

Working with Henry she got a trade-off. She knew she would be seen, obviously - she was here to be filmed, after all. The risk was all gone, but at least Henry was moderately attractive, so she would be flaunting herself in front of someone worth flaunting to. Anyway, he'd spent the entirety of their last shoot behind the camera. It was as if she'd been alone in front of a camera.

'Here we are,' Frank added, turning off the main road and into an unassuming industrial estate.

Sam, having been here before, knew there was more to it than met the eye, but not much more. Apart from the studio itself, the rest of the place was exactly as interesting as it looked - i.e. not remotely. The warehouses, all 20, were identical: half breeze block, half blue-painted metal, all eyesore.

Frank flashed some paperwork to a bored-looking security guard and waited for the barrier to open. He thanked the guard, drove inside, and parked outside warehouse six. 'Right,' he said. 'You got everything you need?'

'Bag's in the boot, but I came dressed. Which way to my trailer? Where do I go for make-up?'

'Very good,' Frank laughed warmly. 'But do you mean to tell me you've been in-costume this whole time and you didn't give old Frank a peep?' He turned in his seat, looking her up and down, noticing her stockinged legs for the first time. Sam barely managed to stop herself from rolling her eyes, and made a mental note to hold her coat tails tight as she clambered out of the car.

'Just make sure you're here for me at five, yeah?' Sam said. 'If I have to get a taxi you can expect a receipt in the post next week.'

'I've got a few bits and pieces to do, but I'll be here. Break a leg.'

Sam got out, got her bag from the boot, and buzzed the intercom beside the warehouse door. 'Henry, honey, I'm home.'

A buzz was the only reply, but the door opened a second later and Sam stepped inside. The interior was dingy, but someone had made an effort at decorating it for the season. If it is possible for inanimate objects to show personality, the tinsel dangling about the place was doing an excellent line in sarcasm. The 'Merry Christmas' sign above the door from this waiting room into the studio looked plain sad. At least there was no Wham to go with the upcoming WAM. It was the first time in two weeks that Sam had been in a public place without hearing Last Christmas or any of its ilk.

'Ah, Sam, wonderful,' Henry proclaimed from the door Sam had just been looking at. 'Right on time as always. Through here.'

Sam smiled welcomingly and followed him into the studio. Henry's camera, newer and flashier, was set up at the far side of the small, chilly room. Sheets covered the concrete floor, and off to one side was a table with a bed sheet over it. All familiar stuff at this point. Equally familiar, but less expected, was Lucy. She stood opposite the table, arms folded, grinning warmly at Sam. Sam stopped dead in her tracks, confused.

'This is Lucy,' Henry said. 'She'll be helping you out today.'

'Hi,' said Lucy, her grin getting wider by the second. 'You must be Sameena. I'm Lucy, the naughty elf.'

Lucy's blonde hair was fastened in pigtails, giving her more of a school reunion vibe than an elf at first glance. At second glance, though, Sam saw the elf costume, such as it was. It was cut from green felt, but it really only managed to be a dress on the technicality of being dress-shaped. To call it impractical would have laughably understated matters: not even Sam would have dared to wear something so short in public. Cleavage was barely covered, knickers weren't even as lucky as that, Sam noticed, as her eyes made their way down to the matching green-white holdup stockings.

'Frank didn't say anything about another woman, except that she cancelled,' Sam replied, ignoring her, but struggling to pull her eyes away.

'Oh, yeah, that was Tara. Don't worry, she's not coming. You're the star: Samta Clause. I've even decided to name the video after you.'

'I mean, what's Lucy doing here? I thought this was another solo gig, like last time.'

'Oh, it is,' Lucy cut-in. 'I'm not getting messy, don't worry, Sam.'

'Oh. Fine,' Sam deflated with something like relief. In truth, she had simply been caught off guard. Frank had a habit of not giving everyone all the details of his less savoury ventures. In other circumstances, Sam thought she might like the idea of getting messy with another woman, especially one like Lucy, but having it sprung on her out of nowhere was a different matter. Well, it would have been. Luckily, it just seemed to have been a misunderstanding on Sam's part. 'So you're here to do lighting, boom handling? Are you the key grip? I've always wondered what that is.'

Henry chuckled, but it was Lucy who answered. 'No, silly. I'm going to cover you in Christmas slime.'

'Eh?' Sam asked, dumbly. 'Lucy, I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that.'

'Do you two know each other?' Henry asked, noticing that neither of them had looked at him since Sam's arrival and feeling a need to assert himself on the situation.

'We met at a work party last year,' Lucy answered.

'Oh, you both work for Frank?'

'That's right,' Sam said. 'But we're getting off topic. What does she mean? What do you mean, Lucy?'

'Look, it's simple,' Henry said. 'You were great last time, Sam. Really. There's a big niche market for, erm, WAM models of colour. You were my second biggest selling video after the one I did with Jessie, but people like it when there's another girl involved.'

'I thought you said—'

'Lucy isn't getting messy,' Henry said, cutting across Sam. 'She's going to be getting you messy. You don't have to do anything weird, don't worry. No red-hot girl-girl action, sadly. Not even kissing. I swear. I'd have to pay more for that. No, Lucy is just going to be doing the pouring, flinging and squirting so you can concentrate on looking stunning. Something which you do extremely well, by the way.'

Sam smirked, she couldn't help herself. She was a sucker for a compliment, and what he was saying didn't sound so bad after all. Again, Sam found herself wondering how much she would have minded Lucy getting more directly involved. She was objecting on principal, feeling like Frank and Henry had kept something from her, but it's not as if she hadn't been up close and personal with Lucy before now. It's not as if she hadn't thoroughly enjoyed it. Again, though, it didn't matter in the end. Yes, Frank hadn't been entirely honest - what a surprise - but having someone else pour slime on her didn't make that much difference, did it? She would still end up slathered and writhing in the stuff.

That was the thing about working with Frank: he told just enough of the truth that you couldn't really complain, but not enough of it to make him trustworthy. He always kept to himself some small detail that might have swayed you in the wrong direction if you had been struggling to make a decision about something. It's a night out, and there's entertainment, but I won't tell you that you that the entertainment is messy wrestling and you're the star. It's a video, and yes it's smutty, but you won't have to fuck anyone or even get naked. There is another woman involved, though.

Whatever, she decided eventually. I'm here now. I need the money, and if I have to be messed up by another woman, at least it's one I know and somewhat trust. It probably helped that Sam also knew Lucy was into this kind of thing, or assumed she was. Having volunteered for, and having seemingly enjoyed, the messy wrestling at last summer's party, Sam had to assume that Lucy was here today because she wanted to be.

'Alright, come on then,' she announced. 'Time is money, right?'

'That's the spirit. Do you need a changing room, or—oh.' Henry trailed off as he watched Sam unbutton her pale brown trench coat, revealing a scandalously short red Santa dress. The white fluffy trim hung maybe two inches over her matching white mesh briefs, so that even the slightest elevation or change in posture would expose them completely. The red stockings that had so recently drawn Frank's eye were even less modest - visible from top to bottom, once she kicked her pumps off.

'Just need to pop these on,' she answered, pulling matching red high heels from her bag.

'Wow,' said Lucy. 'Just wow.'

'Wow is right,' Henry agreed. 'That is perfect.'

'I should hope so, given the price,' Sam said.

'Right, um,' Henry tried to stop himself gawking. 'Your audience awaits.'

Sam hung her coat on a peg in the corner by the door and made her way to the business end of the expensive-looking camera. Lucy pulled a green elf hat on with a playful sense of mock-determination, like a parody of a miner and her hard hat.

'Look right here,' Henry said, 'and give us a quick intro.'

'Well, hello, boys and girls. My name is Sam, but today you can call me Samta. Since you've all been such good boys and girls all year, you get to watch me be a very naughty girl.'

Henry gave her a thumbs up from behind the camera. 'Alright, cut there for a moment. Let's get set-up and start the real thing.'

'Do you want me to introduce Lucy, too?' Sam asked.

'Sure, yeah. Nothing too fancy, though. Just, y'know, this is Lucy the naughty elf, she's going to punish me for being a bad girl. Something like that. Then Lucy just get right into the good stuff, yeah? I'm sure both of you are potential Oscar winners, but we're not here to make Citizen Kane.'

'Excuse me?' Lucy said, taken aback by the sudden bout of sarcasm.

'Sorry, nothing. That came out wrong. Happy faces. Let's go on three.'

Sam and Lucy frowned, but both of them were aware that time was a factor. And Henry was right: people didn't watch low budget messy porn for the script.

Henry performed a silent countdown with his fingers, three, two, one, and Sam looked down the lens again, fixing her face into an expression of campy pretend terror.

'Oh, no!' Sam said, hands on cheeks. 'Lucy the naughty elf is here to punish me for being a bad girl.'

Lucy tottered into place behind Sam, beaming wickedly into the camera. Without a word, she hefted a gravy boat over Sam's head. She must have gotten it quickly, because Sam hadn't even noticed the sheet being removed from the table, let alone its contents being messed with.

Nobody had told Sam where to look during the action, so she instinctively tried to look up at what Lucy was doing above and behind her. Her timing couldn't have been better if she'd tried: the moment her face reached a position where she could see into the gravy boat was the exact moment Lucy let the thick brown contents fall from it. The first stray drips splattered outwards from the bridge of Sam's nose, quickly followed by the rest of the sludgy, half-congealed gravy. Sam squealed. It wasn't a fake, putting-it-on-for-the-camera squeal, it was a genuine oh-god-that's-disgusting squeal, and Lucy noticed it immediately. She couldn't keep from giggling, putting her free hand to her mouth apologetically. She didn't stop pouring, though, Sam noted, not till the boat was completely empty and Sam's face was completely covered.

'Eurgh, thanks Lucy.' Sam spat, literally. 'Same time next year?'

'Oh, that's just the beginning,' Lucy said with a giggle. 'Bad girls need to be taught a lesson.'

Sam badly wanted to wipe the gunk from her face, but didn't want to ruin the effect. From her own experience, she knew people wanted to see the cumulative effect of a continuous onslaught. Besides, what would be the point of wiping her face now, only for it to get ruined again in seconds? She left it, and waited for Lucy to scurry back with more mess.

'Ooh, some mashed potato to go with your gravy, Samta?'

'Lovely,' Sam replied. 'I hope it's a big serving.'

'I'm sure you won't be disappointed.' That was all the warning Lucy gave her. A second later, a big serving spoon full of mash was hovering upside down over Sam's impressive cleavage. A couple of flicks of the wrist later, the fluffy off-white slop was plummeting into Sam's dress, nesting between her breasts.

'Tatties for your titties,' Lucy said.

Sam groaned, partly at the quality of the joke and partly at the feeling of cold mash now sloshing around her bra. By itself, it wasn't as unpleasant as the gravy but the fact that it was wedged in such a soft, easily-disturbed part of her anatomy exacerbated the problem. Then more of it came. Lucy had a whole bowl of the stuff to get through and she wasn't slowing down with its delivery. Another spoonful followed before Sam couldn't even react, this time being more carefully aimed at her right breast. Lucy pushed the plastic spoon directly into Sam's bra and wiped the mash over her breast, getting a shudder out of her victim as it clung to her skin.

Another spoonful followed, this time into the other bra cup, and soon Sam's whole chest was smeared in the cool grey slop. It took some doing, and the bowl was empty by the time Sam's bra was full. She gasped and giggled, milking it for the camera, of course, but her reaction wasn't entirely fabricated. Pretending to enjoy herself and play along made it much easier to hide her actual enjoyment, at least from Henry. Sam had a sneaking suspicion from the way Lucy was watching her squeeze her tits together, sending thick waves of mash over her cleavage and down the front of her dress, that she knew full well that it wasn't all fake.

'Since you made such a meal of being a good girl, I think I ought to make a meal out of you. What do you think?'

'A meal of me? Oh, no. Whatever do you mean?' Sam asked with an over the top o-face of pretend shock.

Lucy replied by holding a serving tray full of poorly-made stuffing under Sam's chin. 'You've always seemed like the type of girl who loves a good stuffing.'

'And you say I'm the one who should be punished after having the nerve to make a joke like—'

Sameen was cut off by the face that gooey, un-set stuffing was being pushed into her face. The smell of sage and onion filled her nose, its taste filled her mouth, however much she tried to keep her lips sealed. Her vision was completely obscured until Lucy finally decided she had given her a good enough coating and pull the dish away.

'Eww,' she groaned, this time not needing to pretend at all as she snorted green-grey slime out her nose and spat more out of her mouth. It dribbled down her chin, some splattering on the floor, some joining the mash in her cleavage.

Lucy was relentless. Before Sam had even the slightest chance to recover from her stuffing face mask, the blonde was behind her again, this time with a glass dish full of stodgy bread sauce in one hand, another full of cranberry sauce in the other.

'Call me predictable,' Lucy said, 'but you do present a couple of very large, very hard-to-resist targets.'

At least this time Sam knew what to expect, even if she didn't have time to do anything about it. She was still trying to knuckle her eyes clear when Lucy pressed reached carefully into Sam's bra, pulled her slippery breast out over the top of her dress and into the bowl of bread sauce. Sam let out a little 'eurgh' sound. She had never had bread sauce before, and feeling it pressed against her naked breast wasn't encouraging her to remedy the situation. It was unpleasantly thick and clingy. On the bright side, it meant the bowl was unlikely to fall off and expose her. On the other hand, she must already look ridiculous to future viewers of the video, with one bowl-clad tit hanging over her dress. The thought gave her a little tingle of pleasure.

The other tit joined soon after. Lucy couldn't make the cranberry sauce stay put like the bread sauce had, so she ordered Sam to hold it in place. Sam did so, thereby squelching the cooler, stickier red slime against her other breast. Now both of them were covered, and both looked stupid. Without thinking, she held other bowl now too, worried it would eventually fall off. Luckily, the symmetry of folded arms cupping her large, soft breasts was extremely appealing, at least if Henry's expression was anything to go by.

'Aren't you going to thank me for your new bra?' Lucy asked rhetorically, lifting the back of Sam's dress. It didn't take much effort to get the hem over Sam's red and white Christmas knickers. 'I spent ages barging my way through the last minute shoppers to find it for you. Some people, honestly. No gratitude.'

Lucy put her hands on Sam's shoulders and gently directed her to turn her almost-bare bum to the camera. She finished her point about Sam's apparent lack of gratitude by spooning apple sauce into the back off the beautiful red and white knickers Sam had chosen to go with her dress. The sensation of the sticky sludge dribbling between her pert cheeks made her shiver, she couldn't help it. She was acutely aware of the fact that she would have dropped and broken the bowls currently covering her tits if she hadn't been holding them tight.

She was also acutely aware of her rear end being the focus of attention for Henry, not to mention the host of internet perverts who would end up watching the end product. She knew she was blushing at the thought, self-conscious as always about her round, fleshy cheeks being gawked at. She had long since come to terms with the fact that she liked to show herself off, but doing so with her arse still remained a different matter. Somehow, it still made her cringe with embarrassment. It was all part of the fun for her - that awkward feeling in her stomach, but it was still genuinely awkward at the same time.