Hostile Work Environment

Note: This story is episodic and all acts therein are part of a performative narrative with the full informed consent from all participants (including if otherwise stated). With that being said, please consider this carefully as a trigger warning for themes that some readers may find unsettling. These stories should be considered for adults only.

Prologue

It had been around eighteen months since Frances’ first taste of work within the TV industry since she was a contestant on a reality TV show. It had proven to be the shot in the arm that her career needed, landing her a supporting role on a children’s TV show. That being said, Frances had yet to feel fulfilled with her professional acumen. For the fifth time that day, she came out of the wardrobe department wearing a grey pencil skirt and white blouse. Lillian, the hair and make-up technician, who Frances had worked rather closely with since she started silently beckoned her to take a seat. Lillian was older than Frances, in her late thirties or early forties, though she was far from unattractive, wearing her experiences like a badge of pride and honour. Lillian proceeded to apply her craft, silently; Frances often felt guilty about her role in making Lillian’s work harder, especially as it meant it was repetitive for Lillian, doing her hair and make-up, again and again, hoping that this time they would get the shoot right. Fortunately, Lillian was the consummate professional and finished each time quickly.

For today’s scenes, Lillian had Frances’ hair tied tightly, affixed with a hairclip and Frances walked out into the studio. Frances sighed, putting on a pair of thick-framed black glasses that completed her outfit, the realisation of what was about to happen to her looming once more; she had taken the job of Ms Mergenthaler, a humourless deputy headteacher, who was constantly scheming to try to make life in the school miserable for the students and teachers alike, in the hopes of progressing her career and perhaps, making everyone as unhappy as she was. Ms Mergenthaler was the antagonist of the show, whose schemes seemed to end in her getting messy (Frances did wonder why she would continue with these plans when clearly, they were too easy to foil). It was, however, a good opportunity for her to get some recognition for her acting, perhaps landing a better role where she could express more range. Frances knew that she had only gotten the part because of her past experiences with mess, mainly when she had mistakenly told the director and producer - conveniently, both middle-aged men - that she had no issue with a job that involved getting messy since she had “I have quite literally, I think, had every inch of my body covered in slime and gunge” which, she realised all too late, had them both thinking about parts of her anatomy that she would prefer kept private. Alas, as she reminded herself, it was work and everyone had to start somewhere.

Frances approached the director, an unpleasant man who constantly stared at her chest while they were speaking. Frances was determined to get the scene completed for today since she had grown rather tired of washing her hair. Damian, the director, sat in his chair, enjoying a greasy egg and bacon sandwich. He squeezed the sandwich keenly between his hands, causing the fried egg to burst, trickling down over his hands. He hungrily knawed at the sandwich, either not noticing or not caring that Frances was there. She waited patiently, after all, it was the death knell of a young actor’s career to have a director of some renown, like Damian, label them difficult to work with, even if their difficulty stemmed from asking for standards at their workplace. Damian looked over to her, seemingly annoyed that Frances had disturbed him.

“What?” The man barked in between mouthfuls of his sandwich. Frances tried her best to not show her repulsion at his rudeness at not even swallowing his food before speaking to her.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just wondered if you had any notes or suggestions for this scene? I mean, you’ve been unhappy with the last four, so I hoped I could learn what you’re looking for? I’m eager to learn.” Frances explained, hoping that flattery might tame his savagery. He continued chewing, his mouth ajar; whether he knew that his actions put everyone else off their lunch and didn’t care or if he was simply unaware of basic manners, Frances often wondered. Finally, the man put down his sandwich, wiping the grease from his chin with a napkin.

“I don’t know. Just… Something else.” Damian explained, wiping his hands with the same napkin. “I want to feel satisfied that she’s getting what she deserves. I don’t want to feel sorry for her. Understand?” Damian continued. Frances nodded, trying to keep her thoughts to herself. She knew that Damian was a far cry from someone with the reputation of Stephen Spielberg or someone whose film-making genius was infamous but he was, after all, was said and done, her boss and she needed to follow his instructions.

“Okay. Sure. I’ve got it.” Frances agreed. Fortunately, they had finished the majority of the scenes, leaving only one or two others to shoot (including some more comedic bloopers they had planned, to show the cast having fun together in order to offer a bit of levity to proceedings, though they were being filmed another day), so Frances could potentially have her role, at least for this series, over within a matter of days. Frances walked onto the film set, getting into character as she strode (she had decided that Ms Mergenthaler would walk with a militaristic march to make her seem more like a fascist leader than the kind of compassionate person who would ordinarily seek a career as an educator). Her position had been clearly marked, then Frances uttered the lines she had been given, with a faint him of a harsh, German accent, before putting her hands on her hips. That was, she knew, the cue for the production team to empty the several buckets of cold custard over her. She was prepared mentally, though she couldn’t prepare physically, as this would ruin the illusion; after all, Ms Mergenthaler wasn’t aware she was about to get messy.

For whatever reason, the production team didn’t immediately react, causing Frances to feel impatient. Remaining in character, she huffed and sighed, as if waiting for someone who was running late. Finally, they took her cue and poured the custard. It was supposed to hit the centre or back of her head, so it flowed evenly over the back of her head and hair, yet this time they had aimed further forwards; a fact Frances had learned, too late, as she got a faceful of custard. It was a lot colder than before, presumably having been put in a fridge or somewhere equally cold. Frances yelped as the custard flowed over her face and straight down her blouse. She stepped forward, trying to save the scene, shivering as more custard flew over her. Somehow, it was actually colder than it was originally. Frances could hear the production team laughing at her misfortune; had she said or done something to irritate them? Remembering Damian’s notes, Frances angrily stomped her feet, channelling divas she had seen when they were told they couldn’t have everything they wanted.

“Someone’s going to pay for this!” She spluttered, which seemed to cue another two or three buckets. Frances tilted her head forwards, hoping to avoid yet more custard going down her blouse, which only seemed to encourage them to pour it over her back, ensuring her rear was given a healthy coating. Frances stood still, waiting for word that Damian was happy. She could tell from the state of her clothes, that there was no saving this outfit. She resisted the urge to wipe her face clear, despite the fact she could barely see through the yellow tinge that hazed her vision (some was even in her eye, which was beginning to sting). She was shivering now. Finally, Damian gave word that the scene was over, presumably he had his fill of watching Frances suffer. She walked towards him, careful to stay on the designated part of the stage for these scenes, for easier clean-up. She removed her glasses and wiped the custard from her eyes as best she could. If there was one thing she could say for getting messy on a regular basis, she had to admit, it made her far less likely to pick up desserts, as she was reminded of the memory of having them pelted at her or a similar experience, which had served as a deterrent.

“Was that better?” Frances asked. Damian grinned with sadistic satisfaction.

“That was acceptable” Damian responded.

“Good, I’m glad. Um… I wanted to say, it’s been a pleasure working with-” Frances tried to offer her compliments to the man, however, he simply ignored her, giving word that they were done for the day. Frances rushed to the shower, eager to start washing herself off before they turned off the hot water.

Frances had changed into her clothes, wearing a pair of blue jeans and a long-sleeved casual top. It was getting late and the sun was starting to go down. She walked to her car, she wasn’t in any particular hurry to get home. She and Joe had begun dating in the aftermath of The Overlord, she was initially really pleased to have formed a relationship with him as well as having made several new friends, thanks to their shared experiences, however, things had not been as easy for Joe. He had initially returned to his job for a few months, but left, citing a toxic workplace environment from some of his colleagues; apparently, though he wouldn’t clarify what, they enjoyed belittling him over some of the things he had done whilst in the house. Frances didn’t want to press him on the subject out of sensitivity, though it did trouble her that he seemed as of yet unwilling to get himself out there and find work - money wasn’t an issue, as she repeatedly assured him, she just hoped he would find an outlet for himself, where he could make friends of his own and have some independence from her, for his own self-worth.

Frances got home, she had moved out from the flat she shared with Hannah, opting to purchase a nice two-bedroom apartment for her and Joe. It felt good to be able to get onto the property ladder, particularly at her age, as she knew a wise purchase could potentially set her up for life, assuming nothing disastrous happened in the meantime. It also felt like a really good point for their relationship, that they had, together, chosen a place where they would call home, where they could start their lives together. Unfortunately, Frances worried that Joe more and more resented her for the fact she owned the property (as Joe wasn’t working, obtaining a mortgage in joint names could prove problematic, as her mortgage advisor told her). Frances had tried to repeatedly assure him that it was as much his home, that if anything were to happen, he would be welcome to stay as long as he so wished, yet it felt as if it had fallen on deaf ears. Frances exited the elevator and walked to her front door, unlocking it. The stress of the day was now beginning to set in for her; she found herself hoping that they wouldn’t have yet another argument.

Frances’ jaw hit the floor when she walked into their living room. Joe was stretched out on the sofa, surrounded by discarded containers for soft drinks and snack packets. His hair was getting quite long, by what could be considered male standards, at least, certainly unkempt. His facial hair was growing ever-outwards, now becoming bushy and wild, more comparable to rural bushes than facial hair. It was quite clear that Joe had moved from their shared bed to the sofa, ate and drank all day and made no effort to clean up. He was wearing an old T-shirt and joggers.  Joe looked up at her, with no regard or apology. Frances breathed in deeply, if he was scoring for a fight, she wasn’t going to rise to it, not today, she’d had a long enough day as it was. Instead, she collected a black bag from the kitchen and cleaned up after him.

“So basically, I’m his m- No… Don’t do that, you’ll only end up saying something and arguing about it.” Frances thought to herself as she put the bag down the chute, trying to put her resentments with it as the bag clanged on its way down. Frances returned to her home, sitting down on the sofa next to Joe. She looked up at the TV screen, observing that Joe was playing a video game.

“What are you playing?” Frances asked, trying to spark up a conversation with him.

“I can turn it off” Joe replied, clearly trying to be considerate.

“You don’t have to” Frances assured him, touching his arm. Frances was a little concerned that Joe’s lack of employment was beginning to affect his overall well-being, as he’d also stopped going to the gym, as well as pulling away from spending time with his friends, which she feared would no doubt harm his mental wellbeing, too. Frances pulled her hand away, fearing he might realise her thoughts and an argument would ensue. Joe powered down the console and switched over to the TV. Frances pulled her feet up, lying closer to him. She could tell he hadn’t showered, though she opted not to mention it; she was just pleased to be at home and able to share an intimate moment with the man she loved.

Later in the evening, Frances noticed that Joe had an erection. Their love life had been somewhat stale, recently, primarily as Frances had found working with Damian to be particularly off-putting, having had a repulsive man ogling her all day long, only to come home to the demands for the gratification of someone else made her feel unpleasant, which had, Frances, admitted, caused friction between them. Frances looked up towards Joe, whose gaze seemed transfixed on the TV screen. Realising he wasn’t paying her any attention, she began moving her hand over his leg, running her fingertip up the inside of his leg. Having not quite broken his attention, Frances decided to go for broke, sliding her hand inside the waistband of his joggers. She grasped Joe’s somewhat erect penis in her hand, massaging it. Finally, he looked at her, a lustful look in his eyes. Frances had missed this; she imagined that he had too, that he would jump into the shower while she undressed, before a night of passionate and intimate lovemaking.

Joe pulled his joggers down, letting his penis expand. He was a little bigger than she’d experienced before him, though Frances didn’t have a wealth of experience with men, she estimated that Joe was a little bigger than average; he was far from porn big but she had been led to believe that this was an unrealistic expectation that distorted perceptions. Frances smiled at him as he stood up. In a moment, she thought things were going to go exactly as she hoped; a satisfying end to a long day. They could make love and feel all their relationship issues melt away into each other’s arms. Instead, Joe moved closer to her, making his intentions clear when he put his hand on the back of her head. Frances pulled away, trying desperately not to grimace.

“Could you… Have a wash, first?” Frances asked, delicately. Joe scoffed and sighed, pulling up his joggers. “Please! I’m not saying no. I just… Having a sweaty penis in your mouth isn’t the ideal end to a long day for any girl, you know” Frances blurted out, losing her patience with his reaction.

“Fine” Joe muttered, walking off.

“Great. Now he’s mad at me.” Frances thought, collecting the TV remote and flicking through the channels. To her surprise, the promise of a blowjob seemed to have the desired effect, as Frances heard the shower running. It was far from what she’d hoped, though there was no reason it couldn’t be a different beginning to the same destination, she reminded herself. She walked into the bedroom, undressing to her underwear. Joe walked out of the en suite bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. It was clear that he’d made a minimal amount of effort, though it was a small victory. Frances got down on her knees, sitting on her feet. She grasped his penis, stroking it gently. She maintained eye contact with him, hoping to retain as much intimacy as possible.

“Will you warn me?” Frances asked. In response, Joe offered the slightest of nods, his hand back on her head again. “No, I want you to promise that you’ll warn me” Frances insisted. She had, at the beginning of their relationship, let that slide, after all, there are some things someone does to impress their partner at the outset of a relationship but it was something that she had made clear she didn’t enjoy.

“Okay” Joe muttered, non-committally, pulling her head towards his erect penis. Frances wanted to persist, to demand that he outright promise to abide by her conditions but she feared she didn’t have the energy for that, as well as everything else. She obliged him, sliding his penis into her mouth. Frances wrapped her lips around his member, still trying to keep eye contact, though it seemed Joe had other plans, pulling her closer. His hand, now fixed firmly to the back of her head in a vice-like grip, moved her up and down, setting the pace. Whenever she saw his face, his eyes were closed. Joe moved his free hand onto her head, too, preventing her from pulling back.

“So much for your promise.” Frances thought, feeling deflated. For several minutes, Joe grunted, his grip tight around her, thrusting his frustrations into her mouth. Her jaw began to ache from the force, though the small mercy was that she didn’t have much longer to wait. She recognised the tell-tale signs, the change in tempo, the noises Joe was making, followed by the obvious; Joe breaking his promise. His grip remained tight, as he ejaculated. Frances omitted a moan of protest, though ultimately, she could do little else under the circumstances. He held her in place until he’d finished, then let out a satisfied moan. Once he released her from his grasp, Frances immediately stood up, rushing past him to the bathroom. She heard him thud down onto the bed behind her. Promptly, she spat the contents of her mouth into the toilet with a disgusted noise. She proceeded to rinse her mouth with water, hoping to remove any residual semen from the roof of her mouth, before she rinsed again with mouthwash to change the aftertaste then quickly brushed her teeth. As annoyed as she was, she wanted to return to the bedroom, in order to continue in a more intimate fashion.

Frances left the bathroom, her hand now inside her underwear, keen to get herself going. Joe was sprawled out over the bed, his towel lying discarded on the floor. Frances wondered if he’d tried to keep himself aroused, if he’d simply not thought about her satisfaction or if he’d tried but as yet failed. Frances lay down on the bed next to him, stroking him once more. Joe groaned, dismissively, then batted her hand away.

“I’m tired” Joe explained, rolling away from her.

“Please, Joe, I’ve had a long day. You don’t even have to do anything, if you don’t want to” Frances pleaded, evermore eager to feel close to the man she loved. It was clear that her requests were going unanswered, as Joe was already asleep.

Frances was woken up to the movement in the bed next to her. She initially wondered if Joe was insulting her, further, by masturbating; she didn’t ordinarily care, as long as he was quiet about it and didn’t blow his load over her back, but tonight it felt particularly insulting. After a few moments, Frances felt Joe kissing the back of her neck and then unfastening her bra. She complied, feeling his warm hands caressing her breasts. Frances moaned with satisfaction, feeling herself getting aroused. It was later than she’d hoped and she feared she may not feel particularly well-rested the next day but it would be worthwhile in the end, if she could end their dry spell here and now. Frances pulled her underwear down, kicking them to the side. She felt Joe’s erection pressing against her back as his weight shifted on top of her. Noticing his intentions, she propped herself up by her knees, spreading her legs.

“You want it from behind?” Frances asked, trying to confirm Joe’s intentions.

“Yeah” Joe grunted. “You’ve been a bad girl” Joe added, his hands gripping her shoulder and hip. It seemed he was in the mood for rough sex, which was still not quite what Frances had hoped, yet she reminded herself, that it was a start.

“Oh yeah, I’ve been very bad” Frances answered, playing along as she got herself aroused. “Give it to me hard.” Frances encouraged. Joe moved his hand from her hip, pulling her closer to him with his other hand. Frances yelped, feeling a sharp pain as he tried to enter her. “Not like that.” Frances protested. Joe either didn’t hear her or misunderstood what she was saying, trying to proceed anyway. Frances pulled away from him, trying to get into a different position.

“That’s the wrong way. From behind.” Frances reiterated, telling him what she wanted. Joe proceeded, once again, either misunderstanding or ignoring what she was saying. She felt another sharp pain, which caused her to cry out. “No, stop” Frances demanded.

“What’s wrong?” Joe answered, angrily.

“I told you, from behind, not anal” Frances scolded him.

“I thought they meant the same thing” Joe confessed, showing it was ignorance, rather than malice. “Some girls like that, though?” Joe added.

“Some girls may do. It just hurts, I don’t want to try it.” Frances explained, getting upset.

“What if I want to?” Joe asked. It was a stupid question and if she weren’t so stressed, she might have let it go.

“Then I guess you’ll just have to find one of those other girls who does like it!” Frances snapped, rolling away from him.

“Seriously? Are you giving me a pass?” Joe asked, enthusiastically. Somehow, the question hurt even more than when he tried to penetrate her. Frances didn’t provide an answer, as that would give away the fact that she had started to cry.

Morning rolled around, thankfully she didn’t have to work today, which meant she could wake up naturally. She was alone in bed when she woke. She picked up the discarded clothes and towel, putting them into the washing basket before she proceeded to shower, herself. She dressed in a pair of black leggings, a dark green skirt, beige buckled shoes with a heel and a dark blue cardigan. She tied her hair back, going for a more casual look. She walked out into the living room, where Joe was back on the game he was playing the night before. Frances sat down on the sofa next to him, crossing her legs. Joe didn’t say a word to her, clearly upset about the night before.

“I’m sorry about last night. I…” Frances began. She wanted to get her words right, she wanted Joe to understand where she was coming from, to help him to understand what she felt. “You just surprised me. I’m not saying I won’t try it, I just need to think about it?” Frances grimaced at the thought, though she didn’t want their failed attempt to be a stain on their relationship. Joe absorbed her words without response. Frances stood up, twirling on the spot to show off her outfit.

“How do I look?” She asked, with a smile. Joe had always been good at showering her with compliments, which lifted her self-esteem plenty. Today, however, was not such a day. His concentration wasn’t altered from the TV screen.

“Fine” Joe answered, unenthusiastically.

“You didn’t even look” Frances responded, disappointed with her partner. “I’m having coffee with the girls; there could be a job in it, for you, too. Want to come?” Frances enquired, hopeful that if it seemed like a more casual gathering with friends that he might be tempted.

“Why? I’m not a girl” Joe shrugged, clearly taking the wrong message from her request.

“Nobody said you are!” Frances thought. She shook her head and then turned around to face the door. “Please, try not to make a mess.” Frances insisted as she walked towards the door. She was in no doubt, that she would regret her passive-aggressive comment later, but right now it felt good; it was something she felt very clearly that she needed.

Frances got to her car and sent a message to Saoirse. The two women had become somewhat friendly since The Overlord had concluded, though initially, their relationship was obviously based upon Saoirse’s desire to ensure some continuity of care (as she had repeatedly told them, just because they had finished their time on the show, the show’s responsibility to them had not). Saoirse replied in a typically quick fashion, letting her know that there had been a slight change of plans, instructing her to meet her at the house where they had filmed The Overlord. It felt surreal for Frances to be going back there, to where everything began but she was eager to discuss her future career options, particularly as it would mean that she would be able to work with someone she knew and trusted.

Frances arrived at the house, which from the exterior, looked only slightly different. The machine by which they had been ejected from the house was now rather conveniently covered within what appeared to be some sort of conservatory; presumably in order to provide contestants with some level of discretion, from the twitching curtains of nosy neighbours who seemed to have a terminal case of keeping up with the Jones’. Frances noticed that the front door was once again ajar, though she felt confident enough to simply enter the house, without hesitation or trepidation; it had, in some strange way, felt like home to her by now. The interior appeared much the same, albeit in a strange and surreal fashion. The sofa they had sat on, where so many memories with her friends had been created now sat, dormant and unused, ignorant of the happy times it had helped bring into the world. The chair that had now evicted five people from a gameshow, in the messiest possible way, bore no menace that it once had, sitting there as if it were a simple mechanical mobility aid. Frances walked into the kitchen and caressed the coffee machine that had provided them with so many pleasantries during her time. Her thoughts brought her a smile, remembering the way that Ted had seemed to always take care of them all, though her thoughts quickly turned to sorrow when she remembered his departure from the show; as they always had. Frances found it more difficult to forge a strong friendship with Ted, as her feelings were tarnished with guilt for his experiences (even though Frances knew that she couldn’t have done anything to help him).

Frances sipped at her coffee, the strong aroma offering its reassuring promise to take away all of her problems. She had to admit, had they utilised the services of such a coffee machine, her own experiences of playing Ms Mergenthaler would have been much more tolerable. Unfortunately, for reasons unknown to Frances, the production team had deemed not to listen to her. Frances didn’t have to wait long until she heard Saoirse walking down the stairs, punctuated by the clapping sound of her heels on the hardwood floors. Saoirse turned the corner into the kitchen as if she had been drawn to Frances’ location by the smell of coffee. Saoirse was wearing heavy dark makeup today, her wavy hair had been straightened and descended down her back. Frances felt a little uncomfortable, initially, noticing the black dress and large heels Saoirse was wearing. Her attire seemed to be some sort of leather or PVC, which seemed somehow to make Saoirse’s bust far more prominent than before.

“Hey, you look… Nice?” Frances commented, trying to offer some sort of compliment to her friend. Frances’ gaze fixated upon Saoirse’s breasts, though Frances had tried to break away as if she were enslaved or enchanted by their charms.

“Oh, that’s right, you’ve never seen me in my work clothes. Part of the reason I changed venue on you is one of Michelle’s kids is sick, so she had to stay home. Since Neira wasn’t going to get to see Michelle, she moved up her plans to go shopping with her friend which freed up my morning to take a client.” Saoirse explained, rifling through the fridge to see what she could find. Frances felt uncomfortable, given that she had ostensibly spent the bulk of their time ogling the woman, a feeling she had known only too well, finding it particularly rude and unpleasant.

“Can I ask you a really personal question?” Frances pressed, hoping to preface her question in order to mitigate the awkwardness of it. Saoirse returned from the fridge, having retrieved a bottle of sparkling spring water. Frances noticed her nose ring, glistening from the light from the fridge which really brought out Saoirse’s eyes. “And you promise you won’t gunge me if I offend you?” Frances added, cautiously; she felt it better to try to garner some kind of guarantee from Saoirse, before asking her question.

“You can ask what you like, babe” Saoirse replied with an amused scoff. “Though I never make promises I can’t keep. If my natural reaction to your question is to frog march you into the garden and gunge you for being a bitch, then you have an opportunity to rethink your question or risk getting messy.” Saoirse continued, beckoning Frances towards the vacant sofa in the next room. Frances dutifully followed, her gaze looking out into the back garden. It had seemed they had made changes to it, presumably in anticipation of the show restarting in the coming weeks or months. Frances speculated this was why she was there. Saoirse sat down on the sofa, crossing her legs which led to her dress riding up, giving Frances a better look at Saoirse’s outfit. She was wearing a pair of ankle boots with an exceptionally large heel, which seemed to compliment Saoirse’s outfit. Her dress was sleeveless which showed off the extensive amount of ink that extended down either arm. Frances had often wondered if Saoirse’s tattoos told a particular story though Frances had always refrained, fearing their tale one of pain and heartbreak that would make her want to put her arms around the woman (an act which Frances wasn’t sure would be gratefully received).

“Okay” Frances inhaled deeply as if trying to summon the courage to ask her question. “Have you had your boobs done?” Frances enquired, trying desperately not to look at Saoirse’s chest.

“No” Saoirse giggled, her head moving forwards as she did. She pushed her hair back from her face, revealing she was smiling. Frances breathed a sigh of relief, it meant, at least Frances hoped, that Saoirse was not offended by the question. “It’s the McElroy curse. All the McElroy women wind up being really short with massive boobs. While filming, I made sure to wear bras that would make them look smaller but having big boobs does kind of help with my Domme work.” Saoirse explained. Frances nodded, her curiosity sated, at least.

“Thanks for thinking of me, by the way. I really appreciate it” Frances chimed in, awkwardly. She had been advised by a more experienced colleague to always thank the casting director for the opportunity, no matter how small. Saoirse frowned, giving Frances a distasteful stare.

“You asked for the meeting when I barely knew you.” Saoirse shook her head before taking a long drink from her bottled water. “Anyway. In a nutshell, we’re looking to get the show back on the air for a new series. The problem? Michelle is on maternity leave, so I need someone to do her job; as much as you may think her job is pointless, it’s actually really quite important.” Saoirse explained the opportunity Frances was there for. She explained that Michelle’s role in the company was in part assisting with the presenting, when needed but also a more backstage role with the production team; Michelle had volunteered to help test the devices, which Saoirse had initially dismissed as unnecessary however Michelle had put forward a strong case: they wanted contestants to get very messy but without feeling overwhelmed by the experience. It meant walking a fine line; one that would only be recognised by a human being taking on the experience themselves.

“So a big part of my job is… Getting gunged?” Frances asked, cautiously.

“Well, no, not necessarily. Michelle undertook that role herself because she really likes getting messy - which is fine, I don’t care, like what you like. As far as I’m concerned, as long as the devices are safe, which is absolutely our priority one and won’t have anyone running for the door, I don’t mind how you do the job. Of course, the best way to do the job is Michelle’s method, I’d just understand if you’d prefer not to.” Saoirse explained. Frances had to admit, while she was initially reluctant upon hearing what was involved with the role (she didn’t like the idea that it seemed no matter who she worked for, people just wanted to throw a multitude of different substances over her), Saoirse’s light-touch management style definitely appealed to her. “I mean, if Joe needs a job, we could definitely use him, too. It could be good for the boys, in the new series, to have a veteran contestant present to who they can relate. Kind of making you both team leaders, of sorts. Nothing’s finalised yet, though, so worth thinking about.” Saoirse illuminated the offer slightly more.

“I don’t know. Joe’s… I don’t think he’d go for it” Frances explained with a heavy sigh. Saoirse, perhaps noticing Frances’ exasperation moved closer to the woman on the sofa, putting her hand on Frances’ leg in a supportive way.

“What’s the problem?” Saoirse asked, her voice very empathetic. The level of support emanating from Saoirse seemed to directly contrast with her current attire, which Frances found more than a little jarring. She felt as if Saoirse should be dragging her by the ear, forcing her to undress upon the pain of a riding crop before putting her through some sort of humiliating experience. Frances shook away the idea, largely because she honestly believed Saoirse would likely quote a price for such a service.

“It’s nothing” Frances downplayed, forgetting that Saoirse was very good at spotting deception. “I… I just didn’t realise living with someone was this hard.” Frances added, hoping Saoirse didn’t press her for too many details.

“Sure, it’s not easy” Saoirse answered, imitating the behaviour of a therapist.

“How do you stop a boy from… You know, breaking his promise?” Frances asked, reticently. She had always been raised to be quite repressed about sex, which had often triggered a conflict of emotions in her. Given Saoirse’s abundant willingness to embrace her identity as a sexual being, Frances felt a little more comfortable seeking advice from her.

“Depends on the promise.” Saoirse scrutinised Frances, squinting at her. Frances’ was certain that if Saoirse felt Joe had wronged her somehow, she would unleash the wrath of generations of oppression upon him, as if she were a vessel channelling the anger of her ancestors upon him.

“I just mean… You know, when you’re… And he says that he’ll…” Frances struggled to get the words out. She was trying her best to explain what she was referring to with hand gestures, whilst in the vague hope that she wouldn’t make Joe seem bad. Saoirse nodded, presumably having understood what Frances was talking about.

“How do you stop a boy from coming in your mouth, when he promises he will warn you first but never actually does?” Saoirse summarised. Frances brushed her hair behind her ear, trying to push away the shame she felt.

“...Yes” Frances confirmed. Saoirse leaned back on the sofa, slapping her hands onto her thighs.

“Oh, that’s actually easy. I had that problem with Jimmy. I’ve never been massively fond of blowjobs, with men, anyway. But I digress. He was like that, full of promises, then forgets what he said. It’s like, do you have memory problems? It was like five fucking minutes ago! Anyway, I took the view, that if I ask him to warn me, he’d better warn me so I told him, he was going to warn me - no more asking. I made it clear to him that if he doesn’t, he won’t like what happens.” Saoirse explained, with a sadistic grin on her face.

“Oh, God. Did he warn you?” Frances asked, feeling quite gripped by the story.

“Of course not! Though of course, he was all apologetic immediately after, like he suddenly remembered. I made him think I swallowed it, then when he lay back on the bed, I sat on top of him; though not for the reason he thought. When he was least expecting it, I spat that shit out all over his face.” Saoirse concluded. Frances had made the mistake of taking a sip of her coffee, which she coughed back up into her cup.

“Ew” Frances reacted, gutturally.

“Yep, that’s pretty much how he reacted. I told him, it’s not nice getting come in your mouth when you’re not expecting it, is it? Then made it abundantly clear, that if he doesn’t warn me, I’ll spit it over him. If he keeps doing it, I’ll just get inventive.” Saoirse concluded, drinking her water triumphantly.

“Did it work?” Frances asked, somewhat in awe.

“Oh, it worked.” Saoirse grinned sadistically, again. Frances realised that she may have just heard the origin story of how Saoirse developed her Domme persona.

“I actually had an idea that I wanted to discuss with you, too” Frances explained. She began her impromptu pitch, explaining that she had an idea for a kind of accompanying series that could run alongside the new series of The Overlord, which tied in rather perfectly with Saoirse’s sadistic streak; a kind of faux docuseries that explores “behind the scenes” of the show (that would also allow her to test the devices, whilst giving Frances the opportunity to act). Saoirse seemed very encouraged by the idea, offering production ideas and storylines.

“I like it. I mean, we’d need to make it abundantly clear to anyone watching that this is performative, that everything that’s happening is entirely consensual, performed by adults who are playing a part. It could be lots of fun.” Saoirse commented, a devious grin on her face.

“I’m glad you like the idea. I’ll have a chat with Allison, and see if she’s up for it, too.” Frances added, nervously fixing her hands upon her legs.

“I’m sure she will. That girl loved getting messy, just as much as you” Saoirse commented, with a wry grin.

“Oh, I’m not into that.” Frances batted away the accusation.

“Of course not…” Saoirse nodded slowly.

Episode: Tardiness

Frances left her car, she was meeting her friend for breakfast before she started work. She was wearing a black low-cut top, a patent red skirt that finished just above her knees, sheer black tights and a pair of designer boots she was keen to show off. She wore her hair down over her shoulders, and a pair of sunglasses protecting her vision from the morning sun’s glare. Frances felt herself walking confidently, despite the heel on her new boots being quite a bit larger than she was ordinarily used to. Allison waved her to the table outside of the fast food venue they were meeting at. Allison was already eating. Frances couldn’t help but feel more than a little envious, since Allison seemed capable of eating whatever she liked, yet still maintained her figure. The two women greeted with a passionate hug. Allison wore a red and black stripey jumper that reminded Frances of the Nightmare on Elm Street films. Her hair was longer now, the streaks that were once in her black hair fading.

“Hey girl, you look amazing!” Allison chirped, looking her friend up and down.

“Thanks. I figured, now that I’m earning good money as an actor, why not treat myself to some beautiful things?” Frances explained, pointing not-so-subtly to her boots.

“Oh my, they are lovely” Allison gasped, in a strangely feminine way. Frances wondered for a moment if she was being genuine or if she was a very gifted actor, herself. “I’m really jealous. I can’t afford boots like them” Allison slumped in her seat, reinforcing the idea that she was being honest.

“I can’t really walk in them, they’re definitely sitting down boots but my feet deserve them. Though they have meant I’m late everywhere I go because I just can’t walk quickly enough…” Frances explained, highlighting the downside to her chosen footwear.

“Yeah, I definitely couldn’t walk very far in those. I bet they’re totally worth it though. Are there any other jobs going? You could help a girl out, now you’re like… A big shot” Allison enquired, though far less naturally in her delivery than previously.

“Sure thing, I’m sure I can find some things for you to do. Though you’d owe me.” Frances explained, tabling her offer like some sort of Godfather.

“And by ‘owe me’ I mean I will get you to do all the nasty jobs that I don’t want to do. I am definitely not getting gunged when I don’t have to…” Frances muttered aloud as if she were narrating her own internal monologue for the intentions of the audience.

“I’m happy to work hard. I just want to do something else, that’s not working for my dad, you know?” Allison agreed, seemingly oblivious to what she had just agreed to.

“Oh don’t worry, I’m happy to help my friends out. I’m not the kind of girl who forgets where she came from when she strikes it big, you know.” Frances reinforced, touching Allison’s hand in a friendly and supportive manner. Frances caught sight of the time, realising that she was likely going to be late for work, yet again. “I’d better go, I’m supposed to be at work in ten minutes” Frances explained, nonchalantly.

“Girl, that’s like a twenty-minute drive. Won’t Saoirse mind, you being late?” Allison asked, her face stretched with concern.

“No, I’ll just sneak in. Managed it the last two days, and nobody even noticed. My job is such a breeze!” Frances bragged, before setting off to her job.

Frances finally got to the house, though she was at least ten minutes late, as Allison had predicted. She quietly opened the door, stepping over the threshold. The house was very quiet, which was to be expected since the bulk of the staff involved in the making of the show were not currently required as they were undergoing the search for potential contestants and planning out the games that they would be undergoing. Frances had often wondered why Saoirse even insisted on a rigid work timetable, as her job could easily be done remotely, as long as the required amount of work was completed, who would care where it was done? Frances felt she had been lucky, three times in a row, as she crept towards her work station, careful to mute the sound of her heels on the floor as she went. Frances sat down on her chair, crossing her legs. She suspected Saoirse would have some opinions about her boots, too, which Frances looked forward to. Frances proceeded to log in to her computer, looking around to see no sign of Saoirse. Perhaps she was running late, herself? That could prove a stroke of luck, as Frances could claim she had been at work for as long as she liked. Frances opened her emails, her eyes immediately being drawn to one, highlighted as urgent. It was from Saoirse, timestamped at the exact time Frances had meant to be at work. Frances looked around, hoping to catch sight of the Irishwoman before she opened the email. There was still no sign of her. Frances proceeded to click on it, which then prompted a pop-up, indicating a read receipt would be sent.

“No, no, no! If you send a read receipt, she will know I was late for work!” Frances barked at her computer screen, fearing what Saoirse might do if she learned the truth.

“Oh, so you admit you were late?” Saoirse asked, from behind Frances, as if she’d appeared out of nowhere. Saoirse was wearing a satin teal dress with a black floral pattern, the dress descended past her knees, down to her calves. She wore a pair of strappy heels to finish her outfit. Her hair was tied back, in its natural curly state. Even without her Domme gear, Frances still felt she cut an imposing figure.

“Shit, you scared me. Um… I… I had computer trouble. Just wouldn’t start up” Frances insisted, trying to explain the delay in her opening the email.

“Of course you did. Was that what happened yesterday, too? And the day before? Three days into your first week working here and you’ve been late three times.” Saoirse scolded.

“I’m sorry, I’ll make up the time tonight. I… Do you like my boots?” Frances pointed down at her feet, keen to try to divert the conversation away. Saoirse pulled up an office chair, sitting down on it before she pulled Frances’ foot up to rest on her leg.

“Like? No. I love. They must have set you back a lot!” Saoirse fawned over the designer boots, her fingers caressing the black leather as if they were delicate.

“They really did but I just told myself, girl, you deserve nice things. So I bought this skirt and top, too, because… They just go really well with my new boots” Frances beamed, hoping to soak up as many compliments as possible.

“They are really nice. See, that makes me feel bad now.” Saoirse retorted. Her response caught Frances off guard.

“Bad about what?” Frances asked.

“Come!” Saoirse ordered, allowing Frances’ foot to fall back onto the ground before she gripped her hands, pulling the woman to her feet.

“Where are we going?” Frances asked, cautiously, only to be pulled as quick as she could move by Saoirse as if she were possessed by Richard O’Brien from his Crystal Maze days. It wasn’t long before Saoirse had pulled Frances through the gate, into the garden of the Overlord's house. Frances saw it immediately. The gunge tank had been set up, filled to the brim with what appeared to be thick blue gunge with a hint of yellow and green in there. Frances tried to pry herself from Saoirse’s grip but to no avail. “I’m sorry, Saoirse, I promise I won’t be late, tomorrow. Please don’t gunge me.” Frances pleaded. She even surprised herself by how much she didn’t want to go in the tank.

“Three days in a row and you expect me to believe you’re going to learn with just a threat? No, bitch. I let it slide yesterday, figured you were just settling into your new routine… Not today. No, today, you pay the price for your tardiness.” Saoirse insisted, ignoring Frances whimpering. Saoirse opened the perspex door to the tank, gesturing Frances inside.

“I didn’t bring a change of clothes with me” Frances pleaded, trying a different tactic as her eyes fixed on the gunge.

“And I give a shit, because…? Tomorrow, you’ll remember going home in messy clothes and you’ll remember that Saoirse hates tardy bitches!” Saoirse barked, clearly embracing her Domme persona for the role. Frances emitted a timid squeak as if she realised that her fate was sealed. She was about to set foot in the tank when she realised she had a tactic she hadn’t attempted yet.

“But… My boots. You said you love them, you can’t do that to them. They’ll be ruined! They’ll be ruined, Saoirse!” Frances reiterated, trying to reinforce her point.

“That’s a good point. I suppose I can’t justify that.” Saoirse backed down. Frances breathed a heavy sigh of relief, stepping away from the tank.

“I mean, I totally understand that you’re angry with me for being late. If I’m late again in the next week, I will totally understand if you want to gunge me. It’s just not fair on these beautiful boots” Frances continued, trying to find a compromise for the situation.

“That’s very gracious of you. If you’re late again, in the next month, I will expect you to fill up the tank and be sitting in it, waiting for me, next time” Saoirse expanded on Frances’ offer.

“You drive a hard bargain, but if it means I get to stay clean today-” Frances tried to confirm.

“Oh, you misunderstand. You’re absolutely being gunged, today and if you’re late again in the next month, I expect you to prepare the tank yourself and I want you to pick colours that don’t go with your outfit, just for added insult. I’m just letting you take your boots off.” Saoirse clarified her intentions. Frances stuttered and stammered, realising that she had not only been led into a trap but she had also conceded ground she now didn’t need to. Frances removed her boots and then proceeded to step into the tank, sitting down on the chair inside. Saoirse scooped up the footwear. “What shoe size are you?” Saoirse asked.

“Um… Five? Why?” Frances asked.

“Oh. Same as me.” Saoirse replied, heading inside, admiring the boots up close. She left Frances alone for a few minutes which felt like an eternity.

“This is not fair! I was ten minutes late for work, it’s not even like there’s anything time sensitive that I needed to be here for. Now, my new clothes are going to get ruined! Ugh, why did I take this job?!” Frances hissed, angrily, to herself. Saoirse returned after a few minutes, with a pair of black Wellington boots in one hand and a bucket full of brown gunge in the other.

“I figured you will need something to wear, you know after you get out of the tank” Saoirse gestured towards the Wellingtons.

“Oh, thanks, that’s very generous of you” Frances retorted, with zero attempts at masking her passive-aggressive tone. Frances watched as Saoirse proceeded to fill each of the boots with the brown gunge, reaching about halfway.

“I know, I’m such a kind, giving boss, aren’t I?” Saoirse hit back, with a wry grin. She proceeded to approach the tank, gripping hold of the handle.

“Please, I promise I won’t be late for the next… Two months. If I am, then you can gunge me, twice? Three times? Just let me off, today, please?” Frances pleaded, desperately, hoping to find some kind of bargain. She knew however it was all for nought when Saoirse pulled the handle. It took little time for the gunge to flow through the device, landing heavily on Frances’ head. The gunge felt cold and slimy as it immediately flowed over her hair. Frances whimpered, looking at Saoirse, who seemed to particularly enjoy watching what was happening, albeit from a very safe distance. The gunge felt very much like Frances had remembered, as she tried to wipe it away from her face, as best she could (which only led to her hands becoming covered in the oncoming deluge). The gunge flowed inside her top, turning her red skirt a strange shade of blue and green, even getting her black tights wet and slimy. Frances felt completely covered, waiting for the slime to stop. When it did, she politely asked if she could get out, to which Saoirse obliged. Frances carefully descended from the chair, keen not to slip, as her nylon-clad feet plunged into the pool of gunge that had collected on the floor of the tank. Frances admired the colour for a moment.

“This gunge is very much your colour now, it kind of matches your dress” Frances commented, breaking character for a brief moment.

“Yeah, it is quite pretty. Don’t think because you recognised how sexy I look in this dress that I’m going to let you off lightly for the rest of the day” Saoirse warned, pointing Frances towards the boots.

“No… Please, I’ve learned my lesson, not that!” Frances pleaded, half-heartedly, through exhaustion. Saoirse replied with a death stare that Frances suspected would cause the hardest of people to crumble and confess their deepest secrets. Frances carefully lifted her left foot, and Saoirse aided her by holding the left boot in place. “I hate you a little bit right now” Frances added, as she plunged her leg into the boot. The gunge immediately flowed up her leg and started seeping through her tights with a loud squelch. Saoirse promptly pulled her hand away, to avoid getting any gunge on herself.

“I’m okay with that” Saoirse replied, walking to the second boot.

“This is so disgusting!” Frances muttered as she prepared for the second boot. The same squelching noise followed, though somehow, it felt even more disgusting and slimy the second time around. Saoirse proceeded to lead Frances, once again, this time back inside. Frances could feel more gunge leaking in through the waistband of her tights now as her hair collected in clumps. She could swear that she could still hear her feet squelch inside the boots as she walked, feeling more and more gunge between her toes.

Once they’d returned inside, Saoirse proceeded to sit down at her desk, keen to return to the business of the day. Frances ignored her and began to walk towards the stairs, her destination of the bathroom being her intent.

“Bitch, where do you think you’re going? You’re now… Half an hour late for work!” Saoirse snarled, unpleasantly.

“I… I need to shower” Frances insisted, pointing to her now sudden outfit.

“What you do on your lunch break is up to you. But you already owe me half an hour, I’m not paying you to shower!” Saoirse added, pointing to Frances’ chair.

“So you expect me to work, like this?” Frances exclaimed.

“I expect you to do your job, yes. Now, get to work. I expect that report printed out and on my desk by 1 pm today” Saoirse retorted, clearly embracing her role as the cruel boss. Frances slumped down in her chair, trying to get as comfortable as possible while Saoirse put on her black-rimmed glasses.

Later that afternoon, Frances had finished the report, as Saoirse had instructed, printing it out (though the practice of assembling the report had led to a lot of gunge stains and a rather soggy document), despite her request to email it over instead. Frances placed the bluey-green stained paper on Saoirse’s desk. To Saoirse’s credit, Frances had to admit, she was very good at dead-pan, as she seemed to ignore the gunge and flicked through the report as if she were genuinely reading what Frances had submitted.

“Um… Have I mentioned those glasses make your eyes look really pretty?” Frances commented, trying to soften Saoirse up.

“You do know, I’m married, so I’m not going to sleep with you. Have some self-respect” Saoirse fired back with a rather cutting response.

“Sorry. If you’re er… Happy with that report, could I… Go to lunch? Just, I’d really like to take a shower!” Frances pleaded, gently, trying not to irk Saoirse.

“Oh my God, you think anyone would be happy with this shit? I can’t read half of it because it’s covered in gunge and the parts I can make out, I’ve got you whining in my fucking ear!” Saoirse shouted, angrily, standing up from her desk. Frances noticed that Saoirse had changed her shoes for the boots Frances was wearing earlier.

“Are they my boots?” Frances asked, feeling incensed.

“No, they’re my boots. I rescued them. I feel like my feet deserve them; I’d let you look at them but you’re disgusting right now. Anyway, you’re annoying me, so I’m going to take the rest of the day; means I can show off my lovely new boots to my wife. Oh, before I forget, you’re not being paid for today, because… Well, frankly, your work is shoddy and I’m deducting the money for the cleaning bill!” Saoirse responded, mercilessly as she walked towards the door.

“But… You can’t do that!” Frances decried, getting a little emotional.

“Should’ve read your contract!” Saoirse hit back immediately.

Tardiness: Epilogue

Frances descended the stairs, her hair wrapped in a towel. She had to admit that she had really missed the shower in the Overlord's house. She had changed clothes into a pair of baggy old jeans and a white top, with clean underwear. Frances walked into the kitchen, initiating Saoirse pushing a hot cup of coffee towards her.

“How are you feeling?” Saoirse asked, a look of genuine concern on her face.

“Oh… That was…” Frances tried to formulate her thoughts into a sentence.

“I like to do this with my clients, particularly when they’re new; kind of an after-care thing. A lot of shit gets said during a session, I just don’t want anyone walking out of my dungeon believing that they’re a piece of shit or anything like that.” Saoirse explained. Frances nodded, feeling reassured by the time to discuss the experience with Saoirse.

“Is that what you’re really like, with your clients, I mean?” Frances asked, still somewhat shaken by Saoirse’s manner.

“Yep. My Domme persona is essentially an exaggeration of some of my personality, so it’s quite an easy role for me to play. Are you okay, though?” Saoirse repeated her question.

“It was more intense than I thought it’d be. Allison is definitely on board, though, I’ll try to talk Joe around, so we can have a boy.” Frances answered, drinking her coffee.

“If Joe’s not on board, we could ask Marco. I know you three have a bad history, I wouldn’t ordinarily suggest it but Marco isn’t the same person you knew. I’d tell you more but it’s really not my place” Saoirse revealed, with a clear degree of discomfort.

“I’ll consider it. If you give me those boots! They are so nice” Frances joked.

“Bitch, please. You don’t know what I had to do for they boots. You got to wear them for a bit, be grateful” Saoirse dismissed Frances’ request.

“Yeah, then I had to wear gunge-filled Wellies!” Frances hit back.

“Oh, sometimes, I just have an inspired idea… You really hated them?” Saoirse giggled.

“Ew. Oh my God, I can still feel the gunge between my toes! Ugh… Can I rule out anything to do with my feet in future? And baked beans? I… The smell makes me feel sick, now.” Frances asked.

“You can. Why baked beans?” Saoirse pressed. The look on her face told Frances she wasn’t going to let this one go.

“Yeah… When I was with my old show, playing Ms Mergenthaler, I had to basically sit in this vat of beans for… Ages. Every time, the director said he didn’t like something then back into the beans for me! Ugh, I want to be sick just thinking about it” Frances explained.

“Damn. I have so many ideas…” Saoirse grinned, deviously.

“No. No. No! I won’t do beans, not again! No!” Frances insisted her hands out in front of her face, much to Saoirse’s clear enjoyment.

“We’ll see” Saoirse nodded, slowly, as if she had a devious plan to persuade Frances after all.

Episode: Disciplinary Programme

Allison Adeyemo put on her favourite boots, tightening the buckled straps on the sides. She’d opted for casual attire, wearing a pair of pale blue denim shorts and a cream top. Hearing telltale signs of activity downstairs, Allison descended the staircase of their old two-bedroom house. Her friends had often asked her, especially given her newfound wealth, from her foray into the world of reality TV, why she hadn’t decided to move out but to Allison the reason was simple. It was still early on Monday morning, which meant that the sounds she was hearing were likely from her father returning home from work. Ever since Allison was young, she had made a point of having these chats with her father when he returned from work after a long weekend of working night shifts. Allison passed by a family photo, it was her, her mother and her father. They all looked happy, together, which brought her both joy and sadness. Allison walked into the kitchen where her father, Emmanuel, sat on an old pine dining chair, pouring through the collection of bills that he had received, his left hand massaging his forehead in the way he always did when he was stressing about something. His old gold wedding band glistened in the morning sun as if it told stories of treasured memories of the past. Emmanuel was a stocky man, though anyone who knew him knew him as the gentlest person they’d ever meet, rather contrary to his size. He was in his mid-fifties by now, what hair he had still surrounding his head turning grey. He wore a dark-coloured sweater with a pair of corduroy trousers. When he saw her, he immediately shuffled the letters away, as if he could somehow shield her from them if she just didn’t read them.

“I didn’t think you’d be home. Are you not spending the weekend with your… Friend?” Emmanuel asked, trying to divert attention from his pile of paper, whilst trying to fathom his daughter’s relationship with Ted. Allison pulled up a chair and sat down.

“Ugh.” Allison sighed, with exasperation. “No, not today” Allison added. She had received a message from him, which she knew would be filled with apologies and warm-hearted explanations, all amounting to the same thing. Over the months since the show had ended, the two of them had grown close. Allison had an affection for him, since they first met, due to his evident desire to care for the rest of them. When the show had ended, she had initially tried to ensure he had company, to allow him time to adjust to his new reality; it was something Allison could relate to, as her mother had passed some years before, after battling a long and protracted disease that eventually ended her life. Allison found that Ted had seemed very appreciative of her time, allowing their relationship to blossom into a friendship, though there was always that chemistry, perhaps borne of shared experience, perhaps from the time they’d spent together, whatever the source, it seemed to pull them together closer and closer. That weekend, they had a moment, Allison knew it was brought on by having drunk too much, lowering their inhibitions but they had kissed, a reciprocated kiss; they would have surely slept together, had Allison not prompted Ted’s guilt over his feelings for her by asking if he was sure he was ready.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you two fall out?” Emmanuel asked his tone still awkward. Allison could tell that he wasn’t altogether happy with his daughter dating a man who was twice her age (even despite her repeated assertions that they weren’t dating - which was true, even if Allison knew, a truth that had now been confirmed, that it was what they both wanted) but he was trying to accept that if he made her happy, then it was a good thing.

“No, nothing like that. Just… It doesn’t matter. You’re worried about money, again, aren’t you?” Allison changed the subject, trying to refocus on what she felt was a more important issue. Emmanuel flustered and fidgeted. It had been a point of annoyance for Allison since her mother had passed, money had been a struggle; it led Emmanuel to take up a job as a taxi driver, working extremely long hours every weekend in order to maximise their household income. When she was younger, Allison accepted there was nothing she could really do about it but she was an adult now, and she had enough money to potentially clear their household debts and provide some savings.

“I won’t hear it, Sunshine” Emmanuel put his foot down. It was a name he had called her when she was little, something he now used, particularly when she brought up the money she’d earned from The Overlord. Though he never outright said it, Allison knew he was aware of what he likely considered a more questionable act that she’d done. It certainly hadn’t helped that Allison had let it slip that her sexuality was not aligned with the Christian values Emmanuel had (something else she knew he struggled with, but as with her relationship with Ted, he knew he needed to accept it).

“Dad, I have money. I have a good job that I’m starting today, I won’t miss the money!” Allison pleaded with him. She knew, on some basic level, that it was pointless. He was a stubborn ox at times, particularly when it came to his little girl taking on more responsibility in their home.

“It’s fine, I have it all in hand” Emmanuel retorted, dismissively. Allison sighed, not trying to hide her annoyance. Allison decided not to press the issue, she knew that Emmanuel was still adjusting to her chosen line of work (in spite of the fact it presented her with a lucrative opportunity to do something she genuinely enjoyed) and that an argument would surely ensue, in which things would be said that neither of them could take back.

“I’m going to keep offering, as long as you need the money” Allison reminded him, while she wasn’t going to press him, by no means did she have to accept his word as final. Emmanuel smiled a solemn smile, leading Allison to ponder if she reminded him of her mother, Cheryl.

Allison headed for the front door, stopping briefly at one of the photos of her parents when they were young. Cheryl’s hair was long and straight, much like Allison’s. Many people often commented that she was a spitting image of her mother, something Allison took as a compliment, as she was an attractive woman. Her hair was blonde, and her eyes a dark blue. She was smiling in the photo, a smile that lit up the room. Emmanuel was beaming with happiness, too. It made Allison happy that they had that time together, but it made her sad, too. Allison put her earphones in and started playing music on her phone before she walked to the bus stop. She resisted the urge to read Ted’s message, she wanted to focus on her first day in her new job. Allison checked in her bag, she had remembered to bring her bikini with her (she knew that her job would involve her getting messy, likely repeatedly, so rather than washing her clothes and changing, she decided, it would be easier to wear something that she could shower off in; it also allowed her the opportunity to feel as much mess against her skin as possible). Allison arrived at her stop and walked down the road to the house where the show had been filmed. To her surprise, none of the neighbours seemed to particularly care about the activity that went on inside this particular semi-detached house, though it was equally possible that they didn’t know. Allison had to stop herself from walking into the house she’d spent a week in, remembering that the office was next door.

Allison entered the house through the unlocked door and proceeded to look around. The house was smaller than the one next door, likely, Allison suspected, they had renovated the two properties to provide additional space for the contestants’ house, to lessen the burden on their mental health. The rooms, as a result, were small, mostly filled with desks and advanced-looking computer equipment, likely used for the editing of footage from the show. The kitchen was surprisingly clean, with an array of boxes containing snack bars and other items that could be consumed on the go. Allison headed up the stairs, looking for either Frances or Saoirse to ascertain what she needed to do. Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Allison noticed one of the doors was open and she looked inside to see Saoirse working behind a desk, oblivious to Allison’s arrival. She was wearing a black top, black-rimmed glasses, her hair tied back, with a pencil lodged in her hair. Allison approached the door and knocked on it. Saoirse promptly removed the earphones from her ears and greeted Allison with a smile, gesturing towards the seat opposite her desk. The room was a bit larger than the rooms Allison had seen downstairs, big enough to fit two desks inside. Allison proceeded to sit down on the chair, crossing her legs as she sat.

“Hey, girl. Thanks for… Giving me a job. Things have been a little awkward at my dad’s taxi firm since I did the show.” Allison expressed her gratitude, looking to ensure she got it out of the way as soon as possible.

“Ach, it’s no problem. I take it Frances talked to you, about everything?” Saoirse asked, cautiously. It was clear to Allison that Saoirse genuinely cared about her wellbeing.

“She did, yes. Don’t worry. I’m looking forward to it. I’m… Assuming that if you want me to wear specific clothes, then they’d be provided?” Allison asked, remembering her time on the show sometimes involved wearing more adult costumes.

“We can do that. So you’re totally up to speed and happy to be here?” Saoirse asked, turning around to find some documents that Allison needed to sign.

“Yes, I’m aware of what the job entails and I’m happy to be here. I’m not going to run out the door at the first sign of trouble” Allison giggled, with a sense of apprehension, as if she were missing something.

“Grand. Okay, this is your employment contract, it basically details everything that was stated in the email, feel free to read it to make sure; I may be a bitch but I’m not a fucking bitch who hides shit in contracts, legitimately. The second page is for insurance purposes, third is your bank information, so you get paid. Do you have any burning questions?” Saoirse ran through the papers, handing Allison a pen.

“Um… I have one, but it’s not work-related, is that okay?” Allison grimaced uncomfortably. She didn’t like the question she was about to ask, at all, but she knew she needed to ask.

“Sure, go right ahead, babe” Saoirse replied, her eyes flickering around the screen in front of her.

“After your husband… Passed away, how long was it before you… Met someone else?” Allison asked, trying to frame her question as delicately as possible.

“Well, your answer really depends. Do you mean how long before I slept with someone else, or how long before I met Neira?” Saoirse clarified.

“Like… How long before you had a relationship with someone else” Allison provided more detail.

“That’s not actually as helpful as you think; define a relationship. After Jimmy died, I didn’t really have what you might call a relationship, so much as someone, I could get drunk and fuck. So mostly assholes. The first proper relationship was red, so it really depends on what you’re asking like I said” Saoirse elaborated on her question. Allison felt more awkward now than she did originally.

“So you didn’t… Date anyone?” Allison asked, feeling quite sad for her friend.

“I kind of did, but a date was usually either drinking with someone, eating and drinking with them, before fucking. We really didn’t have an emotional connection, I didn’t want to feel anything for these people, it was more about avoiding my feelings.” Saoirse explained in a surprisingly matter-of-fact way.

“That’s sad. What made you realise you wanted a relationship?” Allison probed, further.

“Well, it was partially the biggest asshole I ever had the misfortune of sleeping with. Scottish fella - I know, I have a type, the Scottish accent makes me weak at the knees - first I met him, I saw the ring indent on his finger, he fed me some bollocks about being separated but on good terms with his wife… Should’ve listened to my gut and told him to go the fuck home but I didn’t; I blame his accent. Anyway, long story short, we had a casual fling, it was fun for a while, and then I met Neira, which made me realise, that I did want more, just I wasn’t that into boys. I completely went off them, when I told him that I’d met someone else, he tries to talk me into a threesome with another girl. I was down, I’d definitely enjoyed it so figured it was a chance to see if I was actually into girls or just her… Turns out, the lass he brought into things, was his wife! Massive asshole” Saoirse explained. Allison was a little taken aback by the story, not hiding her shock.

“Oh my God, that poor girl. What did you do?” Allison asked, trying not to judge her friend too harshly.

“Once I realised who she was, I called it off. I gave her the address of his wee shag pad, hoping that she takes him for everything he’s worth in the divorce.” Saoirse concluded. “I’m guessing that’s not as helpful as you were hoping?” Saoirse queried.

“Um… No, it is, a little” Allison nodded, trying to apply Saoirse’s tale to Ted’s experience.

“There’s really no timetable or any process when it comes to grief. Just one of those things, one day, you wake up and realise that you’re okay, that you have feelings for someone new; sure, that can be a shit feeling too since you feel like you’re betraying your former spouse. Just give him time and space, I’m almost certain he feels the same way about you, it’s just he has more feelings to contend with about that?” Saoirse surmised, reading between the lines. Allison was a little surprised, despite being a similar age to her, it seemed sometimes that Saoirse spoke with the wisdom of someone older.

“Thanks. That’s actually helpful” Allison expressed her gratitude. “I should get to work. Do I have a script or anything?” Allison asked, standing up.

“No, no scripts. It’s not acted per se, more scenario-based, so it’d be your natural reaction to that situation. You’ll get the information on the scenario itself before it happens, though I will reserve the right to throw in some surprises along the way…” Saoirse explained, her face erupting into a sadistic grin.

“I heard about that! Frances really wasn’t happy with those Wellies” Allison giggled, sharing Saoirse’s enjoyment of their friend’s misfortune.

“Oh, you should’ve seen the look on her face. And the squelch!” Saoirse continued, clearly pleased with her own work.

“Oh God, what have you got yourself into, Alli?” Alison thought to herself, as she entered an empty room, changing her underwear out for her bikini.

Being all set, Allison went next door, keen to meet with Frances to discuss the events of the day. She walked into the house via the front door, hearing activity in the kitchen so she made her way through the hallway, past the machine. Allison stopped dead in her tracks upon seeing who was there. She expected to see Frances and her blonde locks chipperly bouncing around like a carefree rabbit. Instead, she knew exactly who she was looking at, even though she was looking at his back. The man’s attention was clearly fixated on the coffee machine.

“What the fuck?” Allison barked, feeling immediately outraged. The man turned around, immediately smiling at her. It wasn’t the sinister, perverse smile that Marco had usually worn, but a friendlier, more welcoming one.

“Good morning, how do you take your coffee?” Marco asked. He was wearing a pale blue office shirt and black trousers. His outfit, Allison thought, fit with the image he was trying to cultivate for himself, that somehow, if he dressed in business casual attire, the women would somehow forget what he’d done and he would be forgiven. Allison tried to think of some witty quip she could fire back at him, something quick and cutting, the kind of thing that would put him in his place, something like what Saoirse would have said but her mind was only filled with anger; it was the first time Allison had seen Marco, since his exit from the show, upon revelations of wrongdoing; while Saoirse had refused to tell her, Allison knew that Marco was looking at images of her, presumably while she was asleep in the next room.

“What are you doing here?” Allison stepped back, feeling more than a little anxious. Marco swallowed hard. It was quite clear he wasn’t expecting a strong reaction from her. Though what did he expect? Was she supposed to give him a hug, forgive him and forget, because he put on a shirt? Allison considered at that moment whether the job was worth what she was being asked to do.

“I… work here, too” Marco mumbled, nervously. Allison didn’t respond, instead storming out of the door. She contemplated walking to the bus stop, returning to her old life as a taxi dispatcher. But then she decided against it, why should she be bullied out of a job she wanted because of someone else? Allison furiously re-entered the house next door and charged up the stairs with a purposeful stride, walking into Saoirse’s makeshift office.

“What the fuck, Saoirse?” Allison simmered with anger.

“I’m going to need more detail than that, babe” Saoirse retorted, not looking away from her screen.

“Do you know who I just ran into, making coffee, like it’s nothing? Apparently, he works here?!” Allison continued, losing her cool. Saoirse didn’t immediately respond, removing her glasses and then working her lips, in clear frustration.

“Do you know where Frances is?” Saoirse asked, her tone serious and authoritative.

“No. Can you address my problem, please?” Allison pressed, once again on the verge of walking out the door. Saoirse stood up from behind her desk, Allison could see she was wearing a dark grey skirt and black knee-high boots.

“I’m going to. When you said Frances spoke to you, you were saying she filled you in about the job? You had no idea about Marco?” Saoirse clarified, her tone suggesting she was unhappy with this development.

“No, she didn’t mention anything, and neither did you!” Allison scolded, as Saoirse looked out the window, presumably trying to locate Frances.

“Right now, I’m going to let that go; Frances was supposed to talk to you since you two are close and both directly affected by him being here” Saoirse responded to Allison’s angry comment. “Don’t worry, she’s going to pay. In terms of Marco, I wouldn’t let him get within fifty feet of this place if he hadn’t undergone some serious growth as a person; it’s not my story to tell, but let’s just say, he isn’t the same. However, you’ve every right to be angry, so you’ll have the opportunity to take that anger out on whichever one of them you feel deserves it!” Saoirse added, her anger coalescing into an idea.

Allison had gone out for breakfast, at Saoirse’s instructions, while she handled the issue with Frances and Marco. Allison had initially thought of stuffing her face with the most expensive items she could buy, given that she was spending Saoirse’s money but once she’d walked it off, she realised that Saoirse had simply made a mistake of not clarifying her question. Allison felt heartened by the fact that she had taken her concerns as seriously as she had, which certainly boded well for her longer-term prospects with the company. Not to mention, the money was very good, compared to what she was paid before. Allison opted to collect some pastries from a local bakery, something for herself and a small peace offering for Saoirse, in case she felt Allison was out of line. She was quite keen to find out what Saoirse had planned. Her phone vibrated with a message from Saoirse, indicating that she was ready for Allison to return, instructing her to the garden. It was a very nice day, which made the walk all the more refreshing. The time allowed Allison to process what she’d seen; there did seem truth in what Saoirse had said. Marco hadn’t stared down her top or spoken exclusively to her breasts, there was no comment about her wardrobe choices, just a nervous smile and an enquiry about how she takes her coffee. Was it possible that he had actually changed?

Allison put her purchases down in the kitchen and proceeded into the garden. Her eyes widened when she saw what had been set up. It looked like something that belonged in some BDSM film. The contraption was not too dissimilar to a child’s swing, though the seat was black, resembling leather, hanging from the metal frame. Also hanging from the frame were two, thick chains, with wrist cuffs and two more from each side. The seat contained a large hole in the middle. Frances and Marco were standing to the side of the device, surrounded by what appeared at first glance to be at least two dozen buckets of gunge, in various colours. Frances was wearing a black halterneck swimsuit, her hair tied into a ponytail. She waved meekly to Allison, clearly feeling guilty about her neglect. Marco was wearing a pair of black speedos, just as he had the last time he was standing in that garden (a fact that Allison wondered if it was deliberate on Saoirse’s part).

“Why is there a hole in the seat?” Frances pointed, nervously.

“Seriously?” Saoirse scoffed in disbelief.

“Oh… Sorry” Frances shuffled on the spot, shivering a little. Allison didn’t think it was especially cold but chalked it up to nervousness. Allison had always felt Frances had a very nice figure, but she understood that the woman had self-image issues, though she hadn’t enquired about the reason for them.

“Okay, I wasn’t going to set this up, here, because… Well, we all know about my other job. Frances was supposed to talk to you, give you the opportunity to mull it over about Marco being here, and he was only going to be hired if you were 100% okay with it; that would also give him the opportunity to tell you his story. Apparently, she sent you a message, didn’t get a response and figured that you were fine with it” Saoirse summarised what she had learned.

“I didn’t get that message. I’m not as against it as I was, I want to give him a chance, it’s just… I should have known he was here!” Allison vented her emotions at Frances like a steam engine, ejecting the excess heat.

“You’re right, you should have been. As a result, Marco is on probation, if he steps one foot out of line, a fucking look that makes you feel uncomfortable and he’s gone. You say the word and it’s done” Saoirse explained while Marco nodded in solemn acknowledgement.

“I’m sorry Alli, I didn’t realise you’d not seen the message” Frances apologised, her hands clutched firmly over her crotch.

“Bitch, you’re going to be sorry! Now, that brings us here… You’re going to get your revenge. You get to be my wee apprentice, today, and we have a selection of slaves for you to practice on!” Saoirse beamed with a sadistic passion. Allison could tell neither one of them was especially comfortable with the prospect of what was about to happen, though she had to admit, it made for one hell of an apology.

“Am I allowed to volunteer? I… I wronged you, I’d say how sorry I am for that but as a friend of mine says, deeds, not words, so… While I really don’t want to know what that’s like, I don’t think it’s fair to punish Frances for my mistakes” Marco interjected, with a maturity Allison didn’t honestly think he had in him.

“Well, that’s really up to Allison. Who do you want in there?” Saoirse asked. Allison looked over at Frances, who averted eye contact, her bare feet shuffling in the grass. It was quite clear she was thinking ‘not me, not me, not me’ but didn’t want to say anything.

“What happens to the other person I don’t pick?” Allison asked, eager to ascertain the full details.

“Oh, they aren’t getting away with it. It just won’t be quite as bad for them.” Saoirse revealed, her fury with the pair evident in her words.

Allison pondered the options available, her glance alternating between the two of them. She considered, seriously, before ultimately deciding she would grant Marco the opportunity to make things right; especially as Saoirse had pointed out, Frances would not get away for her role in the process. Allison indicated her choice, to a much-relieved Frances. Marco proceeded to plant himself onto the swing, prompting Saoirse to work, affixing him to the device.

“It should be tight around your wrists and ankles, but not too tight. It shouldn’t hurt, is what I’m saying.” Saoirse told Marco, who tugged on the restraints. They looked a lot sturdier than Allison had initially suspected. Marco nodded, giving her the all clear. “Last chance to back out” Saoirse pressed, collecting something from a grey plastic bag.

“I’ll go through with it. I owe her this much” Marco responded, once again, showing a level of emotional maturity that had been previously far beyond the reach of the man Allison had previously met. Allison pondered for a moment, if she was making the right choice, looking over to Frances. It was clear from Frances’ posture that she felt extremely uncomfortable, perhaps that discomfort was enough? Should she take the high road here and absolve them both of wrongdoing? Allison shook away the doubts that were creeping in; they’d all signed up for the job knowing that they’d get messy, likely in uncomfortable positions and contraptions, so why should she not have some fun at her colleagues expense? It might even prove to be the catalyst that her relationship with Marco needed to get onto the kind of footing where they could become friends. Seemingly happy with his answer, Saoirse approached Marco, inserting a large black gag into his mouth, fastening the straps around the back of his head and neck. Marco tried to say something but his speech was muffled by the shiny, rubber ball. Allison let out an audible laugh, covering her mouth with shock; if anything, she was very pleased to not be sat in there, right now.

“Okay, now this is really important: can you breath okay? You may not be able to breath through your mouth as well as you might like, but I want you to be sure that you can breath in and out of your mouth normally” Saoirse continued her safety check, her hands hovering around a metre away from Marco, ready to remove the gag if needed. Marco moved his head, the gag pulsating in his mouth, as if trying to find a comfortable way to wear it (if there were such a possibility for him) before he finally nodded, timidly. Saoirse added a final addition, putting a pair of goggles over Marco’s eyes, presumably to alleviate the need to wipe gunge from his eyes.

 “Okay. He’s at your mercy, so have fun with it” Saoirse turned to Allison, before walking a safe distance away. Marco’s eyes met Allison’s, through the goggles, as he appeared increasingly like a deer in headlights. Allison couldn’t help but savour the moment. True to its evident purpose, the swing style seat left Marco particularly vulnerable to certain sex acts, save for the tight fabric covering his intimate regions (and the lack of penetrative instrument on Allison’s part), which gave her some level of amusement. Allison looked at the gunge that had been prepared in buckets around them, noticing a lot of bright, vibrant colours. Allison collected a bucket of what appeared to be hot pink gunge, plunging her hand in to the liquid to give it a stir. It oozed off her hand, back into the bucket with a satisfying, slimy, slop. She rubbed it between her fingers, reminiscing about her own experiences of being gunged. A disgusted smile erupted across her face as she pondered what was about to happen to Marco.

“Are you really hoping it’s warm? I could tell you, but… Well, I kind of want it to be a surprise!” Allison teased the bound man. “Is there anything I’m not allowed to do to him?” Allison asked, turning to Saoirse, who was now a safe distance away.

“That’s really up to you and Marco. If he raises his index finger on one hand, take that as no. Both hands, take that as ‘stop’ and I won’t tolerate any excuses on that” Saoirse instructed, confirming the understanding of both parties. Allison proceeded to dip her hands into the gunge, collecting as much as she could in her palms, before slathering it over Marco’s head, smearing it over his face, too. She felt him squirm as she went, rubbing it into his hair.

“Feels lovely and slimy, doesn’t it?” Allison asked, rhetorically; she was definitely enjoying this more than she initially expected. Her gaze moved temporarily to look at Frances, who had the look of a woman who wanted to run out of the door right now. Allison collected the bucket and poured the gunge over Marco’s head, leaving half the bucket still remaining. It dripped over his bare shoulders and down his chest. He made grunting noises (or at least, whatever he was saying or the expressions he was making were reduced to grunts) as Allison proceeded to shampoo the gunge over him. Allison perused the available buckets, she wanted something less viscous for the next bucket, trying them out with her hand as she went. She found a pastel green, which was both quite cold and also thinner, which somehow made it feel even slimier and collected the bucket.

“I can’t believe you’re putting your hands in it” Frances commented in astoshishment.

“Well, I want to know it fits what I want him to feel” Allison explained, walking past Frances, which caused her to illicit a sigh of relief. Allison was already plotting which buckets to reserve for her. “Is Frances going in there, too?” Allison cruelly enquired to Saoirse.

“Do you think she’d manage that?” Saoirse asked, an incredulous look on her face. Allison had to admit, Saoirse had a point. Allison opted to stand a fair distance away from Marco this time, picking out another two buckets. She proceeded to throw the contents over Marco, hitting him squarely in the chest. The second, she aimed a little higher, hitting his neck and face. Allison was relieved that Saoirse had given him goggles, while the experience was proving to be incredibly satisfying for Allison, she realised, she didn’t want to cause the man undue harm. Allison walked behind him, admiring her handiwork as she went. Marco’s back, however, was mostly still clean, with a few pink streaks emanating from his head and neck but no real signs of the green gunge she’d used. Allison collected a light purple bucket, proceeding to coat his shoulders, watching as it streamed down his back, pooling at the waistband of his trunks.

“Give me a signal if this is too much” Allison signposted, before she pulled at the waistband of Marco’s swimwear. She waited for a moment as she heard audible protests coming from Marco; it was clear from his muffled words, she was making him uncomfortable but he offered no signal. Perhaps he was enjoying the experience as much as she? Allison had to admit, she didn’t really mind if he was, it was proving a rather satisfying revenge for her, even if he took pleasure in it. Allison proceeded to empty the remaining contents into the back of Marco’s trunks, aiming to try to get as much gunge in between Marco’s buttocks as she could. Marco squirmed as gunge began to leak through the hole in the seat.

“Ew, that looks like he’s wet himself” Allison chuckled as purple gunge trickled from Marco’s Speedos onto the grass below.

“If that were his urine, I’d definitely suggest he seeks immediate medical attention. Nobody should be peeing purple” Saoirse quipped. Allison proceeded to walk around to face Marco, who was by now a sticky, multicoloured mess. He struggled, as if he knew what she was about to do. Allison looked inside the bucket, then decided to collect another. There was still several buckets left, allowing her to give Frances a good coating, too, though Allison realised she needed to let Marco go, if she were to balance it out well.

“Are you ready?” Allison asked, waiting for a response. Marco shook his head, as if he were trying to ask her not to do what she had planned but offered no refusal signal. Allison pulled open the waistband of his Speedos, again, the flow of gunge over his chest and stomach had already dissipated, meaning there was no immediate surge. Allison used her free hand to scoop handfuls of gunge into the man’s swimwear, careful to keep her hand a reasonable distance from his genitals (after all, she didn’t want to touch him, inappropriately). Marco squirmed, which added to Allison’s satisfaction. Gunge was now spewing down his inside leg.

“Can I take pictures?” Allison asked, looking to Saoirse.

“I don’t know why you’re asking me. Can she take a picture?” Saoirse redirected her question to Marco. The man seemed to contemplate the question for a few moments. He seemed reluctant, which Allison understood, the more she thought about it.

“It’d just be between us? I’m not going to post it anywhere. I promise” Allison clarified. The compromise seemed to put him at ease, leading to Marco nodding. Allison retrieved her phone and took several pictures of the end result, for her own amusement.  Saoirse checked that Allison was satisfied, then proceeded to remove Marco’s gag and releasing him from the restraints. He rubbed his wrists, with a slimy squelch, as if trying to relieve the discomfort from the restraints.

“You stupid shite!” Saoirse belitttled him, giving him a firm kick. “I asked you if it was too tight! Ugh, why do guys do that?” Saoirse continued scolding him, clearly annoyed by his insistence to suffer.

“I just thought… She might enjoy it more, that way” Marco defended himself, looking hopefully at Allison.

“Oh aye, ‘cause the lass is really going to love it when you’ve cut the blood flow off to your fucking hands, ya eejit!” Saoirse retorted, refusing to accept his defence. Saoirse then turned towards Frances, who looked at the device with a look of sheer terror.

“Please, I’m sorry. Please don’t put me in there!” Frances pleaded.

“I’d suggest a nice baked bean bath for her but we don’t have the beans” Saoirse grinned, sadistically.

“I’ll do that, instead. Just… Please, not that” Frances added, looking like she was about to cry.

“We have handcuffs, you can tie her up and gunge her, if that’s alright with you both” Saoirse suggested as an alternative.

“You mean, you’re not going to make me do that?” Frances asked, her gaze alternating between the two women.

“I wouldn’t make any of you do anything you don’t feel okay with. There’s pushing limits and boundaries, like that, then there’s giving you a panic attack at the prospect of coming to work” Saoirse explained, handing a pair of cuffs to Allison. Allison, feeling bolstered by Saoirse’s words, walked behind Frances, collecting her arms together to place in cuffs.

“I’m sorry, Alli, I should have made sure you got my messages” Frances reiterated her apology, as if it might spare her. The cuffs clicked into place, and Allison set to go to work.

“Does she need goggles and a gag, too?” Allison giggled, looking towards Saoirse. Marco proceeded to take the goggles off his head, wiping them down with a towel he was using to clean his face of gunge, then offered them to Allison.

“Er… I guess that really depends on whether Frances could handle being gagged?” Saoirse asked, her head moving from side to side on a vertical axis. Allison could see from the expression on her friend’s face and the look in her eyes that her answer was likely no, as she plucked up the courage to offer her reasons.

“I’m astmatic” Frances mumbled, timidly, looking down at her feet as if there were some deeply embedded shame attached to her medical condition. Allison decided to start by gently pulling Frances’ hair out of the ponytail she’d put it in, letting it flow down her back. Allison complimented her friend, telling her that she thought she looked good with her hair down, which seemed to put Frances at ease; though Allison knew this was just an excuse to lure her into a false sense of security. Allison collected up her buckets and a plastic jug, which she planned to tactically apply the gunge to Frances’ body, to allow for maximum coverage and precision. Allison kneeled down, dipping her hands into a bucket of thick, pale pink gunge. She grimaced as the slime squelched between her fingers, an expression that Frances reflected back at her. Allison collected as much as her hands would hold, then slapped it onto Frances’ blonde hair. Frances flinched and whimpered at the impact, then Allison set to work, rubbing the gunge into her blonde locks. “Oh my God, that feels so disgusting” Frances pleaded, as Allison worked the slime into her scalp. Perhaps sensing where the direction of traffic was headed, Saoirse opted to instruct Marco inside, offering the pair more privacy than would be afforded by their presence.

“You’ve never considered dyeing your hair pink? It really suits you” Allison remarked, as Frances’ hair began to adopt the colour of the gunge. Frances didn’t respond, then Allison added more, this time from the jug, using bright green, before rubbing it into Frances’ hair, matting it into a tail-like mass that descended down her back. Allison proceeded to collect another jug of the green gunge, teasing her friend with it. Frances seemed to instinctively know what Allison was going to do with it, as she flinched each time the jug went close to her chest (which ultimately only seemed to spur Allison on, who sadistically repeated the gesture). After taunting her three or four times, Allison used her free hand to pull out the front of the lycra suit Frances was wearing, then she proceeded to pour the contents of the jug over Frances’s bare breasts. Frances emitted a disgusted squeal and recoiled, leading Allison to pour more, this time using the pink gunge she’d began with, into her swimsuit. Frances continued to squirm, as the gunge-lump descended, unabated by her protests, aided by gravity. Frances began lifting her legs, one by one, presumably trying to dislodge the gunge from her crotch, as Allison added a third jug full to the growing mass, before helping it to its destination with her hand on Frances’ stomach.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Allison whispered, looking behind her to ensure they had sufficient privacy for her friend to confide in her.

“It feels horrible” Frances insisted, though Allison wondered if Frances was simply unwilling to admit the satisfaction she was taking from the sensation (the noises she was making certainly indicated a level of involuntary satisfaction). A small trickle and pink and green had leaked out, descending down either of Frances’ legs, suggesting her efforts to dislodge the gunge had been far from successful. Allison decided to let her friend suffer a little while longer, turning her attention to the woman’s still rather clean back. The straps of her suit were tied into a bow at the back of Frances’ neck, with some splatterings from her saturated hair across her shoulder blades and back; Allison collected a bucket of particularly slimy yellow gunge, opting to initially pour some over Frances’ exposed shoulders, which elicited a shrill, disgusted shriek. The gunge flowed down Frances’ back, causing her to shiver uncontrollably. Once again, Allison pulled open Frances’ swimsuit, this time, exposing her rear. Allison wasted no time pouring yellow and then pink gunge into the back of Frances’ suit, turning her skin a rather unnatural colour.

Allison returned to face Frances, admiring her handiwork, as Frances pleaded with her captor for mercy that she must have known was never going to happen. Allison collected the bucket of green gunge, teasing Frances with the contents. She threatened to throw it directly into her face, by swinging the bucket, leading to Frances clenching her eyes closed, only to cautiously open them when the impact didn’t happen.

“What should I do? Over your head? Throw it over you? Or do you want more in your swimming costume?” Allison teased.

“Please don’t pour more inside” Frances requested, trying desperately to move her hands close enough to her crotch to pull the fabric out. Allison wanted to help her out, but she was reminded by Saoirse’s hesitations of the same, when it was Nazreen who had been treated to the same experience. Allison decided to compromise, she poured the remaining contents over Frances’ head, pulling the bucket towards herself, in order to cover her face (in the realisation that much of the gunge would fall down, onto her chest and subsequently go inside her swimsuit). Frances spluttered and moaned, before Allison took pictures of her prize. If there was one thing she could be certain of, she thought to herself, it was that she was going to particularly enjoy her new job; especially as she was in no doubt that Frances was plotting some way to exact a messy revenge on Allison. Once she was satisfied with the images she’d taken, Allison released Frances from the cuffs, prompting the woman to pull out the fabric from her crotch, sending a stream of gunge down her legs with a satisfied moan.

“You look like you peed yourself” Allison chuckled, looking at the stream of green and pink coming out from Frances’ swimsuit. “Though I’d definitely speak to a doctor if your pee looks anything like that” Allison added, revelling in the moment as Frances tried her best to wipe the gunge from her face. Allison decided against pressing the question that had entered her head earlier about the noises Frances was making; she had the strong impression that Frances was not as open about such matters as Allison was.

Epilogue: Disciplinary Programme

Allison descended the stairs with a self-satisfied skip, she had thoroughly enjoyed her first day in her new job, though she had no doubt that her colleagues would soon be plotting ways to make sure they exacted righteous vengeance upon her (though she had to admit, she was more than a little looking forward to whatever they had planned). Allison heard voices coming from the kitchen and decided to join in the conversation. Marco had now changed into his own clothes, having showered and dried himself off. The man gave an awkward smile to Allison; there was still a degree of awkwardness between them. While Allison had come to the house fully cognisant of his presence, they had yet to have a meaningful conversation about what had transpired during their time on the show and Marco’s journey from the arrogant, toxic personality he was, to the man she’d met today. He seemed to be in the middle of a conversation with Saoirse, which Allison found to be a relief in no small measure, after all, she seemed like the kind of person who wouldn’t tolerate the kind of toxicity that Marco had brought.

“I’m not gatekeeping at all. Call yourself what you like, I don’t care. I actually loathe gatekeepers; I know this girl, Irish, same as me, but she grew up over here, right? So to the English, it’s ‘you’re not one of us, you’re a filthy Paddy, go back home to Paddy-land, ya wee terrorist shite’ which… Sidestepping the flagrant xenophobia and use of racial slurs for the time being. But back home? She’s not Irish, she’s British because her family left Ireland. So she spent her whole life not feeling like one thing or the other, because gatekeepers decided that there are entry requirements to call yourself something.” Saoirse ranted, clearly something Marco had said had earned her ire (though the subject seemed to be one that would set her off easily).

“What did she do?” Marco enquired, sipping at his coffee cup, a surprisingly empathetic tone emanating from his voice.

“Oh, she moved to Scotland. Apparently they were like ‘you’re Irish? Welcome! We cannae stand the fuckin’ English, either! So we already have things in common’” Saoirse concluded, her accent slipping seamlessly into a broad Scottish accent. “Though it does mean her accent is a weird mix of English, Irish and Scottish. I keep telling her, she just needs a wee bit of Welsh in there and she’s completed the set.” Saoirse continued, her accent reverting back to its native form. Saoirse beckoned Allison to join them, pushing a steaming coffee cup towards her. Allison collected the cup and moved away from Marco; it would be some time yet before she felt completely comfortable around him.

“I know what that’s like. Here, people look at me and see a black girl, but when I visit my dad’s family, while nobody has ever said it, I feel like they treat me differently because my mum was white; it feels like ‘oh, there goes the white girl, what could she know about life here?’ Just leaves me feeling like I’m not one thing or the other.” Allison opened up, hoping it might make her feel more comfortable.

“That sounds really tough.” Saoirse replied, an empathetic smile on her face as she collected her cup. “Perhaps that’s something you could relate with…?” Saoirse prodded at Marco, clearly sensing Allison’s intentions. Marco nervously fumbled with his phone, opening an image on his phone.

“Please don’t show me any dick pics. I told Saoirse I don’t mind giving this a try but… That’s going to make me feel really awkward” Allison drew a line in the sand. Marco looked up from his phone to Saoirse.

“So she knew I was going to be here?” Marco asked, seeming surprised.

“Of course. You really thought I’d leave shit like that up to chance? It’s yet another reason why you’re an eejit, ya eejit!” Saoirse chuckled. Marco returned to his phone, turning the screen towards Allison. The image showed Marco with two other people, a woman with green hair, half shaved off and a man with long hair. The three people seemed very close, as if they were intimate. Marco had a nervous smile on his face, as if it were still quite new for him to share these facts about himself.

“She’s pretty. Is that your girlfriend?” Allison asked, trying to sound out what she was seeing.

“Kind of, yes. Well, I don’t really know what you’d call us…” Marco began, alluding to the more complex nature of their relationship. Allison sat down at the table, what Marco was trying to tell her, albeit in a clumsy and difficult way, tracked with what Allison had fathomed about him (and what Saoirse had alluded to upon their second meeting). She had to admit, it had made her feel more comfortable with him.

“So you’re bisexual? Pansexual? Or do you not really put labels on it?” Allison asked, trying to summarise the committed throuple that he had described.

“Um… I’m not really sure. Bisexual, I guess?” Marco shrugged.

“Fair. I’m pan, I don’t really go for any person, physically, it’s more about their energy for me so I don’t really care if you’re a boy, girl or non-binary, it’s all about who you are for me” Allison shared, putting her hand on Marco’s shoulder. Allison knew it couldn’t have been an easy thing for him to share.

“Oh, so I’m the only straight girl here?” Frances interjected, awkwardly. She had also changed her clothes, a white towel wrapped around her head. Frances walked up towards Allison and gave her a welcoming hug. Allison had to admit, she was beginning to feel more comfortable being there, as if she’d found where she belonged.

Episode: Employment Disputes

Allison was quite looking forward to the day ahead, her friends were increasingly bewildered by her life choices, opting to chalk it up to an obscenely large pay cheque for the work she was doing; Allison had told them that she felt well remunerated for her efforts but that she was by no means paid in the amounts they seemed to think, yet it felt easier to let them have their perceived realities of her as a millionaire, rather than set them straight with the truth, a truth that she knew they wouldn’t be able to accept. The group had even begun to carpool to work together, dividing their time between preparation for the new series (covering admin etc) and the more practical side (which they doubled up with filming, so to make as effective use of time as possible) meaning that all the work was done, within the necessary timeframe but they also had an additional revenue stream. Allison wore a thick green sweater and baggy ripped jeans today, tying her hair back. She knew she would likely need to get changed at work, but she had some clothes there that she didn’t mind getting messy. Frances pulled up outside, with Saoirse sat in the passenger side, leading Allison to climb into the back of Frances’ car.

“Ugh, why can’t you get a decent fuckin’ radio? I’m sick of this shite!” Saoirse cursed. She was wearing a pair of large sunglasses, despite the weather being quite overcast (Allison speculated that the sunglasses and her profanity were perhaps linked).

“What’s wrong with my music? You just want to play some blood metal or something” Frances snapped back, a jestful tone in her voice as Allison fastened her seatbelt.

“Blood metal? I don’t think that’s a thing, babe. Anyway, I’d be quite happy with something that plays a more eclectic mix, rather than the same ten songs, on a loop, over and over” Saoirse continued, making her distaste for Frances’ preference for pop music quite clear. “It’s fine, we’ll just have to convert you to the ways of rock n’ roll” Saoirse added with a wry grin. Saoirse looked back to Allison, giving her a nod and confirming that her seatbeat was fastened; Allison didn’t know why but Saoirse outright refused to let Frances drive if everyone present wasn’t wearing a seatbeat. Allison had contemplated asking but decided it was likely some tragic story that led to her insistence.

They arrived at the house, then immediately descended upon the coffee machine, with Saoirse all but admitting she was hungover. Saoirse took off her jacket, she was wearing a rather form fitting black top with a light grey satin skirt and stilettos. Frances was wearing tight blue jeans and a long sleeved top that was too big for her. Allison suspected she had opted for something comfortable to travel in, knowing that she would be likely getting changed. Saoirse explained the agenda for the day over their coffees, then they set about their work.

It was approaching midday, with the bulk of the morning spent sifting through applications for the upcoming show; unfortunately, too many people, it seemed, had decided not to take it seriously, putting their friends forward or using outright fake names; one person had applied as a character from a popular science fiction film series, so it wasn’t as simple as shortlisting people who seemed to have the kind of personality that would fit their needs; after all, they were asking their contestants to compete in a stressful scenario, complete with messy games and objectives, all for the viewing pleasure of the wider public (and they would also have to live with the consequences of their onscreen actions, too). Saoirse approached Allison, without a word handing her an envelope; it was her first payslip with the company so it was quite an exciting time for her. Allison gleefully opened the envelope, taking out the slip. She could hardly contain herself when she saw the number on the slip. Surely, this was a mistake? A typing error? Was she really being paid this much? Allison could contain herself no longer and performed an excited shuffle in her seat; Allison was quite happy that Saoirse hadn’t witnessed it, as she would likely have made fun of her for it. Allison looked over to Frances as she opened hers, though her expression seemed to indicate she was not as pleased as Allison; in fact, from her facial expression, Frances was outright furious.

“This has to be a mistake, Saoirse. Can you check this please?” Frances asked, marching towards the brunette with a stubborn forcefulness. Saoirse took the paper from Frances and cast her eyes over it.

“No, that seems about right” Saoirse nodded, handing it back.

“This says I’m not getting paid! Why am I not getting paid?” Frances questioned, her anger becoming more apparent and directed at her boss. Allison tried to sink into her seat; she definitely didn’t want to be involved in this one, particularly as it had seemed she was being paid both hers and Frances’ wage for that month.

“Well, that’s quite simple really. Since Allison started, you’ve been quite happy to let her take on most of your duties and responsibilities; frankly, we don’t need two of you to do the same job so… We aren’t paying both of you for the same job” Saoirse explained, clearly revelling in her role as the cruel manager. Frances looked over to Allison, she was both furious and upset, feeling that her friend had betrayed her.

“Alli, how much did you get paid?” Frances asked, accusatorily. Allison mumbled under her breath, trying to make her way to the door. Before she could get out of the conflict, Frances snatched the envelope from Allison’s hands.

“That’s confidential, you shouldn’t be reading that” Saoirse barked, pointing her finger in an authoritarian manner. Frances ignored the implied threat and retrieved the payslip. Frances scoffed, looking at Allison; she seemed genuinely hurt by the number she read.

“You weren’t going to even split it with me? After I got you the job, too?” Frances laid it on thick, even welling up a little.

“Sorry, I’ll sh-” Allison began to concede before she was interrupted.

“No, I decide who gets paid, what, around here. If you don’t like that Allison is being paid, then you can work harder next month and earn a paycheque.” Saoirse laid down the law.

“I don’t think that’s at all fair!” Frances decried. Allison couldn’t help but chuckle. “I don’t even think that’s legal” She thought to herself. Frances seemed incensed by Allison’s amusement, however. “After what I let you do, you think it’s funny that I’m not being paid?” Frances uttered in outrage.

“No, that’s not-” Allison tried to defend herself. She had to hand it to Frances, she knew how to look genuinely angered by something.

“Girls, shut the fuck up. You’re both pissing me off now” Saoirse interjected with a wave of her hand. “Okay, I’m only paying one of you. I arbitrarily decided and I never arbitrarily back out of things I arbitrarily decide, because that just makes me seem like an indecisive wanker. I will, however, let you two decide which of you are getting paid…” Saoirse explained, with a devious grin on her face. Allison swallowed hard, she knew, whatever Saoirse had planned, it would surely be degrading and unpleasant for them.

A little while later, Allison and Frances were standing outside at the foot of the garden. The two women were now wearing a rather skimpy bikini, Allison’s in red, Frances’ in black. The swimwear was fastened with knots at the sides and back. The grass was still moist from the previous night’s rain, which led to a cold squelch between Allison’s toes. Frances shivered, covering her breasts. She had tied her hair back now and looked very nervous; Allison suspected she had body image issues, though she didn’t know why as she felt that Frances had a lovely figure. She made a mental note to let her know that later.

“This, bitches, seems like the perfect opportunity to test out a new feature for the show; now, should the contestants have any disagreements, they can settle their differences in a Gladitorial style arena…” Saoirse explained, pulling off a tarp. Allison examined what was underneath. It was a square pit, seemingly similar to a small swimming pool, however, the pit was filled to the brim with what looked like a particularly unpleasant type of mud.

“You can’t be serious” Frances muttered, looking mortified by what she was seeing and hearing.

“Have you ever known me to not be serious? The objective is simple; you two can fight it out, in there, whoever wins, will get paid this month. Unless you suddenly don’t want to be paid, then we can just call it settled” Saoirse taunted, reminding Frances what was at stake.

“Ugh, why did I take this job?” Frances asked, rhetorically, clearly exasperated. “Fine, what are the rules?” Frances asked, gritting her teeth.

“Well, you both get into the pit and I will tell you” Saoirse beckoned. Frances checked her hair was tightly held together, as Allison saw to her hair; she didn’t want to give Frances an unfair advantage. Frances walked to the side of the pit, kneeling, then sitting on the floor. She dipped her right foot in first, pulling it back, with a shriek. Her foot was still covered in the mud, which was, it seemed, incredibly viscous, likely particularly slimy too. “If you don’t get in, then all Allison will have to do is get in if she wants to be paid…” Saoirse reiterated. Frances scoffed, clearly unhappy with this arrangement, then put her feet into the mud, sliding in, up to her waist, then further; Allison was a little worried just how deep the pit was, as the mud touched Frances’ bikini top. She found her feet, however, and the level seemed to settle an inch or two lower than it had been, leaving its stain on her skin. It was Allison’s turn now, and she followed the same steps as Frances, sitting down, putting her toes in first. The mud felt very thick against her skin, indeed it was slimier than she would expect from mud and she slipped her other foot in, squishing the mud between her feet. She giggled, enthusiuastically at the prospect of it. Allison had never contemplated playing in mud before, as getting muddy had always been considered what boys do but she had to admit, she was finding the prospect of it quite pleasurable.

“This is not fair” Frances complained, slapping her arms down upon the mud, splashing herself in the face with the impact. Allison chuckled at Frances’ misfortune as she slid into the pit, the mud sliding up her legs. It was quite warm, thankfully, which made a pleasant contrast to the weather they were experiencing. The mud permeated Allison’s bikini bottom as she persevered, pushing her legs downwards to find the bottom of the pit. She was initially worried that she was in a deeper section, as the mud approached her neck, but she eventually found her footing nearer to Frances, which confirmed that the floor did in fact slant, making it more like a pool than she had originally suspected. The ground beneath her feet felt solid and smooth. Allison proceeded to rub the mud over her arms,

“This is probably really good for our skin” Allison nodded at Frances.

“How is this fair? She clearly loves getting messy, it’s not a fair contest!” Frances continued her complaints.

“And? You’re the one who wants to get paid. Just accept defeat and you can both get out now” Saoirse shrugged, indifferently.

“Fine, what are the rules?” Frances asked, clearly unhappy with the response.

“Well, it’s mud wrestling. You win, by stripping your opponent. In order to score, you need to remove her bikini, then get it outside the pit. First girl to strip her opponent and throw her bikini out of the pit will win; the loser will not be paid, and she will be dunked by the winner, just for good measure” Saoirse explained, revealing the objective. Frances looked shocked, appealing silently to both Allison and Frances with her eyes. Allison knew what the answer would be, without Frances’ even asking and she knew Frances did too. “Since I’m not a bitch - well, a complete b… Well… Not that it actually really matters, are you both ready?” Saoirse asked.

“What happens if someone accidentally throws her own bikini out of the pit?” Allison asked, trying to get a grip on the rules.

“Same as if your opponent does. She scores, because you didn’t check. So I guess it depends, if you want to win or lose, really? Though if you throw your own bikini out, then you’re not getting paid and you’re going to go under the surface of that mud so… I would definitely not do that” Saoirse replied. “I’m going to just assume you’re both ready, since I’m bored of looking at your stupid faces, so… Get fighting, bitches” Saoirse added, giving the word for the battle to begin.

Frances wasted no time, grabbing at Allison and pushing her to try to turn her around, presuming that Allison would be an easier target if she were behind her. Allison was careful with her footing, very aware that the floor slanted downwards, a fact that she wasn’t aware if Frances knew, yet; perhaps she could use that to her advantage? Time was becoming of the essence, however, as Frances had already untied the lower portion of her bikini top. Allison managed to gain the upper hand by sliding under Frances’ arms, then tactically using her willingness to get messier to descend into the mud up to her chin, reaching for Frances’ waistband. Frances immediately changed tactic, walking away from Allison (as much as the mud allowed for them to walk) backwards, whilst fending her off with her hands. Allison was making progress, when Frances walked back, losing her footing. Fortunately, she didn’t fall, as she was mostly held up by the mud, though it did mean a portion of her hair was now covered in the substance. Allison allowed her friend a moment to regain her footing, feeling it wasn’t sporting, to press her attack. The moment Frances was on her feet again, Allison continued, pulling her bottom from one side, then quickly making short work of the other.

“No!” Frances cried, as Allison pulled away, her prize being a piece of brown fabric. Allison grinned, holding the garment in her hand, up into the air. Frances was clearly now far out of her comfort zone, being half naked, even if her nakedness was covered completely by the mud she was in. Allison turned then threw the bikini out onto the side, scoring the first point of the game. Frances, clearly not one to be easily beaten, lunged forwards at Allison, seeing an opportunity to finish the work she started. Allison’s bikini top was still half off, as she hadn’t taken the free moment to try to fasten it again (a mistake that she realised was about to cost her, dearly). Frances pounced, exposing her friend’s breasts then pulling away, bikini top in her hands, a victorious smile on her face. Allison was initially unphased, but remembering that their battle was being recorded, she covered herself, before kneeling down into the mud for some privacy. Frances threw the bikini top out of the pit, equalising the scores.

“Oh it’s going to be like that, is it? Just remember, your top will come off much easier than my bottom!” Allison taunted. Allison considered her options, there really was nothing stopping her from removing her own bikini, then focussing on stripping Frances while she sifted through the mud, looking for her prize; it would leave Frances particularly vulnerable, whilst opening Allison’s options up to focussing solely on attack. Meanwhile Allison was considering her options, Frances attacked, with the same ferocity of a woman, unwilling to be beaten. Allison felt Frances pulling at her bottoms, instead of defence, Allison focussed her efforts on pulling off the other woman’s top, managing to remove the top knot. She knew, with a powerful tug, her top would come off. Frances was now focussing her attention on the remaining section, however, so Allison needed to act now. “Wait, please don’t do it” Allison pleaded, imploring her friend not to leave her naked in a mud pit.

“You’d do it to me” Frances retorted, pausing but clearly not backing off, her hands ready to grab her victory, should she need it.

“Um… Do you really think it’s fair, a white girl, stripping a black girl? I mean…” Allison asked. She knew her argument was spurious at best, but she hoped it might offer a moment of delay, allowing her an almighty tug; if it was strong enough, it might dislodge Frances’ bikini top and allow enough force to send it flying out of the pit in a rather epic fashion, providing her a scrappy and underhanded victory; but it was a victory, nonetheless. It had the desired effect and Frances paused, thinking about the racial insensitivity of her plan. Allison gripped the front of Frances’ bikini, causing an audible gasp; Frances was not expecting such action. Allison proceeded to pull, though rather than the fabric coming loose and flying off, it tugged, becoming loose, but remaining on.

“Ow! That really hurt!” Frances cried out.

“Shit… I’m sorry” Allison pleaded, putting her hands out in front of her. Frances was still within reach of her prize, this time, practically ripping the bikini from Allison’s hips. Frances pulled away, taunting Allison with the fabric, descending into the deeper section (though Allison suspected this was more of an opportunity to fix her bikini, so to not expose any more of her breasts than she had to). Allison felt very exposed, which she was aware was the point of the game. She knew the moment she lunged towards Frances, she would throw the once red bikini out of bounds, winning the contest; Allison’s best hope was that Frances lost her footing again, buying Allison some time. Frances laughed, cruelly.

“Can I put her bikini on and still win?” Frances asked, looking at Saoirse.

“No, because you’re not winning until it goes out of bounds. It’s a draw right now, so… You’d just be giving her the victory. Unless that’s what you want, of course” Saoirse explained. Allison realised that she was holding their discarded swimwear, at arms length, as she clearly didn’t want to get any mud on her clothes. Allison slowly moved towards Frances as her attention was focussed on Saoirse, trying to maximise the opportunity to, as she hoped, get Frances to drop her bikini. Frances saw Allison as she got close, with a surprised gasp. Allison opted to tackle her, pushing them both deeper into the mud. To Allison’s horror, Frances did indeed let go of her bikini, which went sailing into the air. Unfortunately, this time, there was enough velocity to clear the pit (though not with the cinematic effect Allison was hoping for, as it meekly splatted down onto the edge of the pit). “And with that, I’m going to call it; Frances wins. Sorry Allison, you’re working for free this month. But on the up side, you’re going to get to be the first girl to be submerged in that mud pit” Saoirse teased. Frances proceeded to stroke her friend’s shoulders with a somewhat empathetic manner, before she turned to look at Saoirse.

“Does that mean I can have my clothes back?” Frances asked, pointing towards the black bottoms in Saoirse’s hands.

“I suppose so” Saoirse responded, throwing it into the pit. Frances proceeded to put her bikini back on (as best she could, in any case), leaving Allison standing there, nervously awaiting her forfeit. Satisfied that she wasn’t getting it any better than it was, Frances turned her attention to Allison. She began by stroking her hair, unfurling it.

“I think you look a lot better with your hair down” Frances complimented her, in a clearly backhanded way, given the circumstances.

“Thank you…” Allison forced a response. Frances put her hand on top of Allison’s head, leading her to close her eyes and take in a deep breathe. Allison prepared to offer no resistance, then Frances pushed her head down, beneath the surface of the mud.  Allison couldn’t help but emit a muted squeak as the mud penetrated her nostrils. Frances held her under for a few seconds, perhaps as long as thirty (it was clear she wanted to get her as muddy as possible but had no desire to cause any real discomfort) then Frances released her, leaving Allison to resurface. Allison felt the viscous substance clinging to her entire body. It felt very different to gunge, although she had to admit, it was far from unpleasant. Frances was already climbing out of the pit, when Saoirse handed her a towel to protect what remained of her modesty.

“Can I keep her bikini, too, as a souvenir of my victory?” Frances asked, pointing towards the red and brown mud stained bikini.

“Well, you did win it, so if you want” Saoirse answered, handing it over. Allison focussed on trying to clear her eyes and mouth as best she could of the mud, before she would need to devise a plan to get inside, ideally without showing her body to the camera. Frances went inside for a shower, leaving Saoirse to also head inside.

“Fuck…I knew I should’ve read my contract” Allison muttered, realising that neither woman was going to help her.

Epilogue: Employment Disputes

It hadn’t been very long, though it felt like an eternity for Allison, when Saoirse returned, careful to walk out of the frame of the camera, before she switched it off. In her hands, she was holding a white, soft looking towel. Once the camera was off, Saoirse continued to walk towards the side of the pit, unfolding the towel as she went. It was large enough to cover Allison’s body, providing cover for her getting out (not that anyone could see over the large fence) and wrap amply around her body, until she got inside for a shower.

“That was a devious tactic” Saoirse commented, with a wry smile. Allison wasn’t sure whether Saoirse approved or disapproved (she suspected, in truth, it was a combination of both).

“Yeah, I know. I didn’t know what else to say and I thought it might work…” Allison explained, feeling quite guilty at her insinuation.

“Oh it worked. I guess, you hadn’t loosened her top as much as you thought?” Saoirse remarked, hypothesising Allison’s plan.

“It would have been amazing if it happened as I planned it…” Allison nodded, climbing out of the pit. Saoirse proceeded to wrap the towel around her, offering the most privacy as possible.

“Do me a favour, make sure you square shit with Frances? I think she took it to heart - and I know that’s not what you intended” Saoirse explained as the pair headed inside.

“Of course. I feel really bad now, I wasn’t trying to really say anything..” Allison reiterated before she headed up to take a long shower to wash the mud out of her hair (and everywhere else it had seeped).

A Birthday To Remember

Note: This story is separate from the others within the wider narrative, it explores aspects of characters’ sexuality and identity and is adult in nature. Unlike the other stories, it is not performative, but as before, all acts conducted are done by adults of consenting age and with their consent.

Frances left the bathroom as the steam from the shower dissicpated into the air of their shared bedroom. Joe had clearly gone back to sleep, which Frances found somewhat disheartening; though today, she vowed to herself, today she wasn’t going to say anything. After all, who doesn’t enjoy a little extra sleep on their birthday?

Frances was careful to collect her clothes quietly, collecting the lingerie she’d purchased (and hidden, lest Joe accidentally learn of its existence before the day in question) and the new dress she planned to wear. She quietly dressed in the living room, which while it made her feel a lot more apprehensive than she would have felt in their bedroom, it did mean that she would hear Joe moving around with more warning (she was adamant that she wanted what she was wearing to be a surprise for later that evening). She put on the silky garments, then set her attention to a pair of black stockings with a suspender belt, before slipping on the cream dress with a floral pattern and a pair of black, Victorian style shoes. Once she was dressed, she returned to the bedroom to check if Joe were still asleep. He seemed blissful in his restful state, his head turned away from the window, a streak of light beginning to permeate the curtains. Frances gently ran her hand through his dark hair, a smile on her face. She was more than a little apprehensive about their evening plans but she was also looking forward to it. They had discussed it a little before now, Joe had made some plans for the evening (which Frances felt was fair, given that he had more free time to research and book things than she did, as he was not currently working).

Frances made her way to work, it was later in the day than she’d ordinarily start but given the nature of the job they were doing, which consisted of admin and paperwork for the upcoming series and testing the devices that they’d planned to use for the show, it was largely agreed that a flexible working arrangement was the best approach, with Saoirse taking a much more hands-off approach as a manager, stating her belief that, as long as the work had been done, she cared little about what time it was done. It worked for Frances, as it had meant she had extra time to get ready and meant she could leave work early in order to fully accommodate the plans she had with Joe. Frances arrived at the house, noticing that an elderly woman across the street was giving her a dirty look; Frances wasn’t sure whether to acknowledge the woman or whether to just proceed inside. She was in little doubt that Saoirse had likely antagonised the woman previously, waving enthusiastically, even blowing kisses or similarly overt gesture, intending to make light of her staring (which had surely made relations with their neighbour even frostier than they were already).

Frances went inside and proceeded up the stairs. She knew it was a big ask but she wanted to confirm that she could focus solely on admin work, rather than getting messy today; while they had a small selection of clothes they could wear for testing (afforded by the fact they often recorded these sessions) but she didn’t want to spend time changing clothes, particularly as she was taking a half day. She walked up the stairs, hearing typing from the room where Saoirse usually worked. When Frances reached the door, she gently knocked, out of courtesy more than anything, feeling like that room was more like Saoirse’s office.

“Saoirse?” Frances asked, as she pushed the door open. There was no response, so she continued on inside. “Oh, hi, is Saoirse around?” Frances asked, noticing that she wasn’t present. The woman sat in her chair turned around, her copper coloured hair held in a hairclip.

“Um… No, she’s… Working elsewhere today” Neira responded, somewhat uncertainly. She was sat in Saoirse’s chair, her legs crossed. She was wearing pinstripe suit trousers that Frances was confident she’d seen Saoirse wearing before (though they appeared looser on Neira, whose frame was smaller than Saoirse’s) and a red and black stripey woolen sweater, that reminded her of the villain from a famous horror franchise.

“Oh okay, so she’s not going to be here, today, at all?” Frances probed, trying to be delicate about her questioning. Frances knew that Saoirse had another business interest but she didn’t know how public this knowledge was and didn’t want to make things any less comfortable than they already were.

“No. I can call her, if you need to speak to her. Is it something I can help with?” Neira asked. Frances looked deeply into the woman’s pale blue eyes, there was a distinct warmth and passion to them, like she genuinely wanted to help.

“Oh, I was just hoping I could leave early today and that…” Frances found it difficult to finish her sentence; how much did Neira know about what they were doing? It would stand to reason that she was fully aware of what her spouse was involved with, even provided her consent to such arrangements, yet it still felt awkward for Frances to say it out loud. Was she afraid of being judged, by a woman whose wife was involved in what some would consider, more deviant practices? Or was she afraid that Neira might wonder if she enjoyed her work more than she let on? No, it wasn’t that, Frances reiterated to herself, it was just a job, she was still just an aspiring actor, who was willing to do these things for on camera work; she took no satisfaction from getting messy. None at all.

“Sure, I don’t think Saoirse minds when you finish, as long as everything is done?” Neira shrugged, with a faint smile. Her hair bouncing a little as she moved. Neira seemed to be waiting for Frances’ second question, which Frances realised, she had yet to ask.

“Great. Um… Can I… Not get messy, today?” Frances asked, grimacing as she asked out of awkwardness. She had met Neira once or twice before but it was only in passing; the woman seemed very shy and a little socially awkward, leading Frances to not wish to put her in an awkward position.

“I don’t think that’s really up to me” Neira responded, sinking into her chair a little.

“Great job, Frances, you’ve managed to make your bosses’ wife feel uncomfortable. Bodes really well for your career prospects” Frances taunted herself. “Oh okay.” Frances nodded, with a defeatist tone.

“I just mean… Isn’t it up to you, what you’re comfortable with? I don’t think Saoirse would really force anyone to do anything they don’t want” Neira clarified, perhaps picking up on Frances’ nervousness.

“So you think she won’t mind?” Frances queried, feeling emboldened.

“I’m not really sure she’d even know whether or not you did; as long as everything is tested, I don’t think she cares who tested it.” Neira shrugged, as if it were no big deal. “Are you doing anything nice with your time off?” Neira enquired, clearly remarking on Frances’ clothes.

“Oh, yeah, it’s my boyfriend’s birthday. He won’t tell me where we’re going but I think he’s booked a table at a really nice restaurant. I really hope he likes his present…” Frances trailed off, trying desperately not to look down at her body, for fear that she might make herself even more self-conscious than she was already.

“Aww. You look really pretty. We have hired a girl to do like… Hair and make-up; I’m not saying you need it, or anything, just…” Neira trailed off with an angry sigh. It was clear she was trying to fight her own awkwardness but wasn’t explaining things the way she wanted. “I’ll re-phrase. We have a new girl, she’s doing hair and make-up, so if you don’t mind, could you say hi and make her feel welcome?” Neira omitted a deep breath, feeling that she’d said what she was trying to without also insulting Frances.

“Oh, okay, yeah, I’ll make sure to say hi” Frances nodded with a smile, trying to make Neira feel at ease.

Despite what Frances had initially said, she opted against meeting her new colleague and instead headed downstairs and through the garden to see her friend. When Frances arrived, she kept a fair distance away, noticing that Allison and Marco were hard at work. Allison was wearing a black bikini top and a pair of shorts, her hair was loosely held in a band, presumably to keep it tidy. She seemed happy, with a big smile stretched across her face as she sat above a large pool. Frances had wondered what was in the pool but didn’t want to get too close, as inevitably, the moment she was within splashing range, Allison or Marco would descend into the pool, staining her dress. Marco was also wearing shorts, with a black sleeveless shirt. He seemed less enthusiastic about what was going to happen, but seemed pleased by Allison’s infectious enthusiasm. Allison waved to Frances, excitably, which seemed to almost knock her off the chair she was sat on. Upon further inspection, Frances could see a mechanism on the chair, which was linked to a panel on the sides. In conjunction with the chairs they were sat on, was a perch, which supported a bucket above them; Frances presumed the buckets were empty, initially, but then she recalled Allison’s meticulous work ethic.

Allison explained the rules of what would become the game they were testing (and that they were doing so, purely for safety reasons, she clarified, her tongue firmly in her cheek); the rules, Allison said, were quite simple. Each contestant would be asked a question, if they got the question correctly, they would be considered ‘safe’ and their opponent would have to press one of the buttons on the side of their chair (which were conveniently out of sight but within reach of the chair’s occupant). Depending on which button they pressed, would depend on what was activated. Marco seemed a little nervous at this point, as Frances realised it was the very same pool that he’d fallen into, on his last full day in the house, repurposed to accommodate an additional game (the chair and the buckets above them seemed to be on their own frame, that could be slotted into place; from the distance Frances was, it all seemed very secure, impressively so, in fact). Marco leaned to the side, presumably to reach the buttons, pressing one with a nervousness Frances hadn’t seen from him before. Nothing initially happened. Allison and Marco both seemed hunched over, anticipating the buckets above them to tip over, leading Frances to conclude they were in fact not empty, at all. However, nothing happened.

“Was that supposed to happen?” Frances interjected.

“Yes, some of the buttons don’t do anything; it’d be a pretty short game if we got gunged straight away” Allison pointed out, seeming like what she’d said were blatantly obvious. Frances felt a little silly that she’d asked now and stepped a little closer to the pool. She could see the contents now, it was filled with a pale pink gunge, which made it look more like a child’s dessert than the slimy destination for at least one of her colleagues.

“Why didn’t you just use water?” Frances asked, pulling away as quickly as she could.

“Water? Is she serious?” Allison turned to Marco.

“It’s actually a good question?” Marco scrunched up his face, clearly trying to remain diplomatically neutral despite his apparently much improved bond with Allison.

“Because… We need to know that gunge will break our fall well, from this height and… Shut up, water wouldn’t do that” Allison responded, her gaze alternating between the two of them. It was clear that she understood her logic didn’t actually hold up to reality, but she didn’t seem to care much.

“Mmm-hmmm, and the bikini is because…?” Marco hit back, rhetorically, in an increasingly camp fashion.

“Shh, you, or I’ll press all the buttons until one or both of us goes in!” Allison laughed. At least she had a good sense of humour about it.

“So you don’t know what button does what?” Frances asked, surprised by that prospect.

“No. Where would be the fun in that? The contestants won’t know what button gets their opponent messy, so why should we?” Allison remarked, again, clearly thinking this was obvious.

“I was actually pushing for that but…” Marco contributed, with a shrug. Allison didn’t wait for him to finish before she reached down to the panel. Frances got a little closer, hoping to spot some sort of colour coded button system that would indicate which button did what; instead, they were only given letter designations. There were eight buttons, all told, ranging from A - H but offering no indication of what each one did. Frances decided not to check Marco’s side, just yet, deciding that it was likely the same, with the next eight letters or perhaps numbers. Frances had to admit, this did afford them the opportunity to change the triggers between each use, so that the contestant wouldn’t simply be able to guess what button to press in order to throw their opponent in, staying clean themselves. Frances watched Allison press one of the buttons, with an enthusiastic shriek. Almost immediately, the chair beneath Marco gave way, sending him plummeting into the gunge below. Gunge splattered onto Allison’s bare legs, as Marco seemed to be completely submerged in the gunge. From the ripples his entrance provided, Frances determined that the gunge must have been quite thick and likely rather unpleasant. After a few seconds, Marco re-emerged, the substance covering his face and hair (though in his case, mostly head). He had held his eyes and mouth tightly closed, before he blew his nose, then wiped his mouth and eyes clear of the mess. Marco moved to beneath the chair, looking up at the device on his side, presumably looking to press a button and send Allison in too.

“No, don’t!” Allison cried out, gripping the sides of the chair as tightly as she could. Marco paused, seeming surprised by her objection. Frances had to admit, she was, too. “I don’t want to fall on you or anything; you should get out, then I can go in” Allison explained. Marco nodded in acknowledgement and walked towards the edge of the pool (though it seemed more like he was wading through treacle from the way he was walking).

“I can’t believe you…” Frances remarked, pressing her hands to either side of her face as she shook her head. Marco proceeded to climb out of the pool, his shorts weighing down heavily from the gunge, which nearly left him exposing himself in front of the women.

“Woo! You go girl!” Allison shouted, her arms raised above her head in excitement at the prospect of nearly seeing Marco’s naked flesh. Marco chuckled, nervously, presumably he considered it fair game, given his previous attitude towards female nudity. Allison drummed her feet towards the gunge. “I can put the seat back up, if you want to join me” Allison mentioned, invitingly to Frances.

“What? No way, I’m staying clean today” Frances responded, sharply.

“Shame. You look really nice by the way” Allison commented. “Could you do me a favour? I want to press as many of these buttons as I can, so could you press some of Marco’s? Just one at a time” Allison added.

“Wait, you do know that means you’re going to get gunged?” Frances reminded her.

“Of course! We need to know this seat works as well, so I can’t get away clean, now, can I?” Allison responded, chipperly. It was abundantly clear now, she had engineered it so that she would also be taking the plunge. Frances obliged her friend, her suspicion confirmed, there were eight buttons, all using numbers. Three, five and six had all been depressed, meaning that the odds of Allison getting messy from one of these buttons was increasingly high.

“Um… What number do you want me to press?” Frances asked, hoping Allison might pick for her, absolving her of plummeting her friend into the slime below her feet.

“Just pick any. You’re going to be pressing them all, anyway; two of them will do nothing, because one of them will trigger Marco’s chair which is already down…” Allison explained. Frances shook her head in disbelief; the fact that Allison had engineered this whole thing seemed astonishing to Frances.

“Okay, just press the buttons. She wants it anyway so you’re not being mean…” Frances thought to herself. She settled on number two, pressing the button. She heard a contraption moving, meaning that she had triggered something. Moments later, Allison shrieked. Frances looked around the chair, to see that she had triggered the bucket above Allison, which was now overturned, dumping the dark blue gunge over her dark hair and shoulders, which was now oozing its way down over her chest and towards her lap. “Sorry!” Frances shouted, empathetically.

“It’s fine, it’s lovely and warm! Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” Allison giggled, reissuing her reminder.

“No, I don’t like getting messy!” Frances hissed, defensively. “Why does she keep asking me to join her? Does she think I like it, like she does? Because I don’t…” Frances briefly contemplated accepting Allison’s offer. She could easily change into something else, then she would also have an excuse to greet her new colleague, with a request to fix her hair and do her make-up for her night out, because it had been totally ruined by doing her job… Frances dismissed the very thought, reiterating to herself that she didn’t enjoy getting messy; “it’s horrible, slimy, disgusting and humiliating” She reiterated to herself. If she repeated it enough times, she would believe it.

“Okay, it’s alright if you did, you know. I do and that’s alright, too” Allison explained, pressing another button. This time, she had pressed the button that triggered the chair beneath her. Allison let out a yelp as she splashed into the gunge below. Frances walked over to collect a towel for her friend, watching closely as she emerged. The blue had seemed to bleed into the pink, from where Allison had fell, leaving streaks of blue over her face and hair when she returned to the surface. Like Marco, Allison had been prepared for being covered, though the gunge was clearly a lot deeper than Frances initially thought, being up to Allison’s chin. The woman cleared her eyes and mouth, before she giggled at Frances again. “This feels amazing!” Allison cried out, practically swimming in the gunge. After enjoying herself for a few minutes, Allison climbed out of the tub and into the towel Frances carefully presented to her, for fear of getting any unwanted transference on her clothes.

Allison had pulled as much of the gunge from her hair as she could, then they went inside, sitting in the kitchen to have a coffee break as they waited for Marco to finish in the shower (he seemed to take an unusually long time for a man, especially as he had very little hair to wash to justify the amount of time he was taking). Allison took care to cover the chair in an additional towel, so to save on clean up after.

“I’m sorry if I seemed like a bitch” Frances apologised for her earlier remarks.

“It’s fine, I was only teasing, you know. Why are you so dressed up?” Allison asked, as Frances prepared drinks for the two of them.

“Oh, it’s Joe’s birthday. We’re going out tonight” Frances answered, dismissively.

“Ooooh, a hot date! Is Joe getting lucky tonight?” Allison asked, in a sexually charged way.

“Um… I don’t know” Frances confessed. “Joe and I… We’ve erm… We haven’t had sex in months. Like… Not proper sex, if you know what I mean” Frances admitted her shameful secret as she handed her friend a mug of coffee.

“Oh no. I’d give you a hug but I don’t want to get your pretty dress all messy. What are you going to do?” Allison asked, emphathetically.

“I don’t really know. It’s just… Every time I try, he’s always tired, or he makes it all about him then he falls asleep. I miss sex, I miss him. The last time we nearly did, we ended up having an argument and…” Frances trailed off, getting upset at the subject. Allison stood up, walking to the sink. She proceeded to wash her hands, lathering her arms in soap, to remove some of the gunge from her body. Once clean, she put her hand on Frances’ shoulder, in a supportive fashion.

“He needs to know how lucky he is to have you; girl, you’re hot, you can do better. He can’t” Allison explained, trying to make her feel better. “Don’t just ask me, we can ask Neira, she clearly knows a lot about hot girls” Allison joked.

“I don’t think she likes me” Frances shook her head. “I figured, we could um… Like spice things up, so I spent a lot of money on my clothes, for his birthday, and…” Frances trailed off, feeling a deep sense of shame about what she had planned; she knew on some level that she had no reason to, that she was talking to a strong, independent woman whose sexuality didn’t weigh her down, it liberated her and that was something Frances aspired to be, but the constant reiteration of her upbringing about what was and wasn’t ladylike veered its ugly head, any time she tried to really enjoy sex.

“You don’t have to tell me what you have planned” Allison said, reassuring Frances. Frances thought, that on some level, Allison knew why it was such a difficult subject for her. Frances wiped the tears from her eyes. “Have you met Ellie? You know what would make you feel better? Having your hair done. Always makes me feel good” Allison nodded.

“Is that the new girl? Oh, how is your love life?” Frances asked, realising that she hadn’t really asked Allison about her situation.

“Ugh. I had sex with my ex the other night. Big mistake. Now he thinks we’re going to get back together, rather than listening when I tell him I was just drunk and horny and that he’s still an asshole…” Allison summarised.

“Oh no, I thought you were seeing someone?” Frances asked, trying to discern the identity of this mystery person Allison had been seeing.

“Well, no. I mean, I want to, we… Had a moment. We’d both had a lot to drink and we nearly had sex, but for some reason when I told him I want him, so you know, he knows I’m consenting to the sex, it was like I triggered something. He sent me a message the other day and I just know he’s been really sweet and nice but… I don’t want to read it, in case he’s told me that we’re over before it’s even started” Allison poured her heart out. Frances very nearly hugged her, only stopping herself a second before.

“Um… I’ll give you a hug once you’ve… Showered, you’re all slimy!” Frances grimaced, backing away from her friend.

“I know… I am so turned on right now! Oooh, maybe that could be your birthday surprise for Joe? We could both jump in the gunge and have crazy sex together?” Allison suggested, winking at Frances. Allison didn’t wait for a response, presumably knowing how Frances was going to respond, then she headed towards the bathroom, as Marco had finally vacated it.

Frances returned to what they had come to refer to as the office, in the hopes that she could find Ellie, to introduce herself, as much as anything else. Frances pushed open a door for a room that wasn’t used before, which was now perculiarly ajar. The room had been renovated, a sink had been installed, to make a small salon-like space. In the room, sat on a stool was a young woman who seemed in her early to mid twenties, with dyed hair, half orange and half green, tied back so the two colours blended together in a very punk-rock kind of way. The woman was reading something on her phone and didn’t seem to notice that Frances was there. Her clothes complemented her hairstyle, wearing pale blue ripped jeans and an old T shirt.

“Hi, are you Ellie? I’m Frances” Frances introduced herself. The woman turned around, seemingly startled by Frances arrival.

“Jesus girl, you scared me” Ellie chuckled, in an Irish drawl. She extended her hand to Frances, introducing herself. She looked Frances up and down, it was clear she could tell Frances had come close to crying recently, but wasn’t sure it was appropriate to say anything. “I’m free, if you want to hop into my wee salon, here?” Ellie uttered, invitingly. Frances couldn’t help but notice the uncanny similarities between her accent and Saoirse’s; they must be friends, which Frances theorised was why she had the job. Not that Frances could really bemoan it, given that she had gotten her friend a job, too.

Ellie proceeded to wash Frances’ hair, her hands felt very gentle, she was clearly a professional with ample experience, reminding Frances of her experiences working on a proper television production; it was clear that they were taking steps to becoming more and more professional as things went on.

“Your hair is really soft. Same with that other girl. I’m starting to wonder if there’s something to this shite they keep dumping over you girls, might have to try it myself” Ellie remarked.

“What, you’d actually do that?” Frances asked, unable to work out if the woman was joking or not.

“Aye, why no’? How is it any different to all the other shite we girls slather into our hair and skin? If it works, then on you go” Ellie shrugged, as she began shampooing Frances hair. Frances had to admit, she did have a point.

“So… You must know Saoirse?” Frances asked, trying to change the subject. Ellie stopped dead in her tracks, a handful of Frances’ hair tightly in her grip.

“Must I? Why’s that then?” Ellie asked, clearly incensed by the question.

“Um… I just…” Frances stammered under the pressure of the questioning.

“Just… Assumed because we’re both Irish girls, that we must know each other? That we like, lived on the same street? Down on ol’ Derry Way, Derry? Because Ireland is so small that every girl knows every other girl?” Ellie raged, as Frances became more and more aware of her vulnerable situation.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, I just - you sound - I’m sorry” Frances stumbled over her words as she fought the urge to cry. Ellie laughed, then released Frances’ hair from her grip.

“Don’t worry about it, lass. Aye, Saoirse and I go way back, so we do. Just a wee joke we used to play on folks, when we travelled…” Ellie explained as she continued washing Frances’ hair. Frances breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

“Oh, um… When is Saoirse’s birthday? I asked her once but she didn’t give me a straight answer” Frances seized the opportunity to learn more about one of her new friends.

“Why do you ask?” Ellie retorted, in a surprisingly guarded way.

“I was just thinking, Saoirse has been so nice to us all, getting us jobs, that it’d be nice if we did something for her birthday. I’d have asked Neira but I don’t think she likes me” Frances explained. Something about the question had stopped Ellie in her tracks. She proceeded to look around outside, then closed the door, as if what she was saying was a secret of the highest classification.

“Okay. So you don’t know, then?” Ellie asked, sitting down on the seat next to Frances’.

“Um… Know what?” Frances asked, feeling awkward.

“What I’m about to tell you, you cannot ever tell her that you know. You seem like a nice girl, and knowing Saoirse, she’ll just try to push through without letting anyone help… I really worry about her, it’s not the kind of thing you can deal with on your own…” Ellie crossed her legs. Frances nodded in agreement, accepting the terms of secrecy that were offered. “Um… Do you know about James?” Ellie asked. Frances thought about the question for a moment, trying to recall if Saoirse had mentioned him.

“Was he Saoirse’s husband?” Frances asked, trying to confirm her suspicion.

“That’s him. So you know he passed away. What you probably don’t know is that he died, while they were out, celebrating her birthday. They were in a car accident, long story short, she woke up, he never did. She’s not really celebrated her birthday ever since; that was also what destroyed her relationship with her ma” Ellie explained, twiddling her fingers together, nervously, as she spoke in a hushed voice.

“Oh my God, that’s terrible” Frances uttered. Suddenly, a lot of Saoirse’s guarded distance made more sense.

“Yep. It’s why I’m here, I just cannot look at that woman, like everything is fine, knowing what she did…” Ellie continued, her tone giving way to genuine anger, this time as she clenched her fists together.

“What did she do? You don’t have to tell me, I’m being nosy… Sorry” Frances sank into the sink, trying to return to what she felt was more her place.

“It’s fine. I figured at least someone close to her should know; I know Neira tries, she’s a really sweet girl but sometimes one person just isn’t enough. When she came to, she… She needed her ma, instead, what she got was a slap, called a whore and told that if she hadn’t of been on the pill, God wouldn’t have punished her. She’s not been the same, ever since then.” Ellie concluded. Frances didn’t know what to say; there were no words, she wanted to try to comfort her friend but how would she go about doing that, without letting her know that she knows what had happened?

“Thanks for telling me. I’ll… try to keep an eye out for her” Frances nodded, understanding the point Ellie was trying to make; it seemed that Ellie was aware, as Frances and the others were, that the precarious nature of TV meant that their show could easily go away, which would mean they would return to their old jobs, but for Ellie, that would surely mean a return home, some distance from her friend.

Frances had finished work early, as agreed and she had succeeded in her mission to remain clean the entire day. She had to admit, Ellie was very good at her job, she felt really good about herself, with her hair and make-up done, professionally; Frances made a mental note to mention to Saoirse that they had met, and that Frances felt she was going to be a real asset to the team (not that her say mattered all that much, but it was still nice to let her know). Frances drove into town, to the location Joe had provided her with. She didn’t know exactly where she was going but she was aware there was a particularly nice restaurant there, which she expected was where they were going. Frances parked up nearby, in a secure car park, allowing them to leave her car there, if she decided to drink that evening. She was quite excited about her plans. It was a little early in the day for dinner, but given the popularity of the restaurant, it was possible that Joe had settled for an earlier booking, or that he had made other plans for the time before their table. Frances walked out from the car park, and she saw Joe almost immediately. He was dressed to impress, wearing a black suit, that Frances had bought him, in the hopes it might spur him on to getting a job, and a crisp white shirt. Frances brushed her hair behind her ear; she felt nervous approaching him, unaware of what he had planned for them. She had to admit, though, that the suspense was proving to be quite the turn on for her.

“Hi. Will you tell me what we’re doing, now?” Frances asked, hoping to press for more detail. The couple exchanged a kiss, as they greeted, leaving Joe a few moments to ponder the question.

“Um… There’s something I’ve always wanted to do with you but I was afraid you’d think I’m a freak” Joe began to explain. Frances stroked his arm, reassuringly, accepting that there was every chance he was about to tell her something that she had long suspected about her partner, ever since their first night together on the show. She didn’t prompt him or reveal that she knew what he was going to say, she simply listened. But Joe didn’t reveal exactly what it was, instead, he led her in the opposite direction of the restaurant; it was quite clear now, they weren’t going there. Across the road, there was an old Georgian building, rising high up to the town’s skyline, it must have been five floors high, at least. The old black door was secured with a modern buzzer system that kept the residents safe and Joe selected the number of one of the apartments. There was no response, but it was clear somebody was listening, as he announced his arrival. The door buzzed and Joe pushed it open. The staircase fit the aestetics of the building, with black corrugated iron holding up the ornate looking bannister. The carpet was a deep read, that descended across the floor down past the stair and up it as well. Frances spectulated that her initial assertion was in fact incorrect, and that Joe had booked them an appointment with a high-class prostitute; the added insult, to which, was that Frances was likely paying for her services. Frances choked back her tears, reminding herself that it was Joe’s birthday and that it would, as she wanted, spice up their relationship; even if it wasn’t in the way she wanted.

Joe led the way up the staircase, which was a lot more trying than it initially appeared. They had gotten up three floors, and Frances felt increasingly like she needed to stop for a rest. It seemed like there were only two apartments per floor, which surely made for an extremely large and luxurious home for whomever they were visiting. After a brief pause to catch their breath, they tackled the remaining two floors. They finally reached the door, once they’d caught their breath, Joe knocked on the door. Frances could hear someone walking towards the door, heels clicking against the floor. She surveyed the door, noticing the sight of a small, embedded camera, presumably for an additional layer of security (which seemed prudent, given what Frances suspected was the resident’s line of work; surely a potent deterrent for a would-be assailant, to keep her safe). Frances put on a brave face as she heard the door unlock, as Joe looked at her with enthusiasm in his eyes; Frances wasn’t sure she would be able to go through with what he wanted, but she was willing to try. After all, she loved him.

The door flung open and Joe slipped in to the dark apartment. Frances followed quickly behind him, noticing immediately the smell of incense permeating the apartment. There was a long hallway, with only one entrance and exit, a hard wood floor, and what looked like dark red wallpaper throughout that added a kind of mysterious vibe to the apartment. Frances didn’t want to turn around and look at the woman, she could smell her perfume and she couldn’t quell the nagging fear that this woman was somehow prettier than her. As they headed towards the opening, Frances feeling more and more like a prisoner being marched towards the cell where she would spend the rest of her miserable existence, Frances noticed a wall plaque, with a rather fitting inscription; Lasciate ogni sperantza voi chi entrate qui, with an English translation below, Abandon all hope, ye who enter. It certainly seemed an odd addition for the working site of a prostitute, which only added to Frances’ sense of trepidation. When they entered the main room, Frances gasped in horror. The room was wide open and large, adorned with shelves that contained different devices and implements, all with a clear purpose. Frances eyes then shot to the corner of the room, where there sat a gunge tank, that seemed to be adorned in black leather. Frances had mis-judged the situation, as Joe had taken her to the premises of a dominatrix; worse still, he had booked an appointment with her friend.

Frances finally plucked up the courage to turn around, seeing Saoirse standing behind her. She was a towering vision of a woman with her exuberantly high heels, that Frances knew were at least in part to compensate for her lack of natural height (though this did not feel like the appropriate venue to highlight that fact). Saoirse was wearing what appeared to be a tight fitting PVC dress, her curly hair descending down her back, her make-up dark and heavy (which fit the look she was going with).

“Not even going to say hello?” Saoirse quipped, trying to put Frances at ease. Frances shot a glaring glance towards Joe; she couldn’t decide whether she was angry with him or upset with him - or the reason she was angry and/or upset with him.

“Hi” Frances waved meekly. It was all the more awkward, knowing what she now knew. “Did Neira know, too? Is that why things were so awkward this morning? Maybe she doesn’t hate me and she just thought I was asking questions I already knew the answer to.” Frances pondered to herself.

“Okay, get the awkward part out of the way… Money, please? I don’t care whose paying, I don’t take cheques or credit cards, just cash, please” Saoirse explained, alternating her gaze between the two of them. Joe responded by taking an envelope from his jacket pocket and handing it to Saoirse. She opened it and briefly sifted through the contents. Appearing happy, she gestured towards two chairs, for them to sit on. Frances tried to ignore the black leather look of the chairs and simply sat down. “Okay, this is weird for you, isn’t it?” Saoirse asked, looking directly at Frances.

“No. It’s fine. I knew you were… Like… A erm…” Frances stumbled over the words. She couldn’t quite bring herself to say the words, nor could she manage to uphold the lie; Saoirse was right, it was awkward.

“Mistress? Domme? Professional bitch? It’s awkward because you didn’t know you were coming here, isn’t it?” Saoirse addressed the elephant in the room, diverting her gaze towards Joe, with a steely gaze. He immediately shrank into his seat, like a mischievous schoolboy, who’d been caught out on a lie.

“...I didn’t. What… What am I doing here?” Frances muttered, nervously.

“Absolutely nothing that you’re not okay with” Saoirse uttererd, reassuringly.

“Yeah, right” Frances mumbled under her voice.

“No, I’m serious. I told Joe that he should tell you before he fucking came here, what he had planned, so you’d walk through that door, consenting to everything that he’d planned. I also told him that if you change your mind at any point I’m not going to push the issue, because even in here, no means no. Well, not no, necessarily, as some of my clients actually quite like to say no but you take my point” Saoirse summarised.

“If she’s not doing it, I want my money back” Joe insisted, boldly, trying to stand up, briefly. Saoirse shot him another cold gaze.

“No. I said that, so if you decided to cancel your appointment that I would have time to line up a client to make use of the session in your absence; if you cancel now and I give you your money back, I’m down time and money - time I could be spending elsewhere - because you were too nervous to have a conversation with your girl” Saoirse put Joe in his place. Frances had seen her do that before, but somehow, particularly where they were and the way she was dressed, it felt all the more powerful. “Now, Joe, would you please do what you should’ve done before now and tell the poor girl what you’ve asked her here for?” Saoirse requested, impatiently.

Frances looked around the room, she noticed again and again that the gunge tank was full; Frances hoped that her initial suspicion would prove true, that Joe wanted to repeat that first night’s experience, with the additional experience of getting gunged, but Frances couldn’t shake the lump in her throat; had he of told her, she would have been able to prepare, bringing with her a change of clothes… She feared, this was his plan, all along. Frances choked back tears, once again, faced with her boyfriend’s sadistic streak.

“Um… I er… I want to gunge you” Joe answered. And there it was, Frances’ fear was confirmed. She had put in a great deal of effort and money to selecting her clothes for their evening together, even taken efforts to stay clean, all day, working up the courage to let him do an act he had clearly been very keen to try, all for it to take a left turn here. Frances felt utterly deflated, she didn’t say a word in response, standing up and walking towards the tank. She opened the door and stepped inside; the one solace she had was that she knew, having been gunged before, that Joe wouldn’t see her cry. Joe seemed overjoyed at the prospect that he was going to get what he wanted, and he was about to walk up towards Frances and pull the handle but Saoirse stopped him. Frances surveyed the tank, it seemed different to the one they’d used on the show, despite the fact that it had been coated in leather (or similar fabric) in order to blend in to Saoirse’s dungeon. Saoirse approached the tank, leading Frances to tense up.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this? You don’t have to” Saoirse pressed, clearly unhappy with Joe for his behaviour.

“Whatever. It’s his birthday. Let him do whatever he wants…” Frances answered, before adding under her breath “he will, anyway”

Saoirse walked towards the other side of the room, holding up a phone. The light from the phone indicated that it was recording, presumably allowing her clients to have a keepsake from their session for future enjoyment; Frances didn’t know why but she felt as bad as she had the first time. Joe gingerly skipped past Saoirse, towards the tank.

“You know I’m going to make you pay for this, right?” Saoirse reiterated with a stern glare.

“I already paid you” Joe muttered, clearly misunderstanding what Saoirse meant. Frances took the time to straighten out her dress. She knew it was going to likely be ruined, she also knew that she was likely going to have to drive home, at the very least, in a purple gunge stained dress, which was assuming that Saoirse had (moreover, allowed her to use) shower facilities for clients to use. Joe gripped the handle and Frances couldn’t help but notice he was aroused by what was happening. Frances was completely puzzled; he knew what she did for a living, why would she think less of him, because he wanted to try something he knew she’d already done before? At least, Frances thought, this would be a birthday he would remember fondly; that no matter what happened, she would always be the first. Joe proceeded to pull the handle. The gunge fell through this tank a lot quicker than the other, catching Frances off guard. She tilted her head forwards, so to try to hide her sadness and to try to protect the lingerie she was wearing from the gunge that travelled heavily down her back. It also splashed from her head, down the front of her dress and into her lap, covering her stockings and shoes in a healthier helping; it may have been, she decided, a mistake to tilt her head forwards. Being the consummate professional, Frances moved back into the deluge, letting her face get coated, removing the last vestiges of sight for now (not that she particularly wanted to see herself) as Joe began to stroke himself through his trousers. The gunge flow seemed to stop sooner than she’d expected. Frances took the opportunity to clear her eyes. Whether it had been over sooner or if she’d just become so used to the experience that it felt quicker as a matter of routine, she couldn’t say but she was now a total mess, her dress was indeed ruined and she could feel gunge inside her underwear. She looked at Joe, feeling debased and degraded; at least he seemed to be enjoying himself. Frances didn’t say a word to Joe and climbed off the stool.

Frances remained standing in the tank for the moment, as the gunge oozed into her shoes. She wanted to exit as soon as possible; truth be told, she wanted to run out the front door, into her car, drive home and have a good cry (preferably locking Joe out of their home for the night) but somehow, she knew that wasn’t on the cards. She still had to endure whatever else Joe had planned for them, though she hoped, she hoped, she hoped, it would be after a nice, long, hot shower so she could piece together whatever dignity she could for the rest of the evening. Saoirse threw a black towel onto the floor in front of the tank, presumably chosen for its fitting to the look and feel of her premises and for the difficulty to stain a black towel. Frances took the opportunity to step out of the tank, onto the towel. Saoirse pressed some buttons on her phone, followed by an alert from Joe’s.

“That should be the video, for you. Have you got it?” Saoirse enquired, looking at Joe. Joe nodded in confirmation. Saoirse proceeded to turn her phone towards Frances, who could see the thumbnail of the file she had sent to Joe. “This is for your peace of mind…” Saoirse explained, turning the device back to face her, pressing some buttons, then showing Frances the screen, reading file deleted. Frances had to admit, she did feel a little better knowing that the only copy of her humiliation belonged to Joe; she wondered if it was bad that she wanted to go into his phone while he was asleep and delete any further record of it, knowing there was no back up he could obtain. It felt cruel, but no more so than what he’d done to her. Frances wiped her feet on the towel, realising she had dripped quite a lot of gunge onto it already. Joe seemed totally ignorant of her, sitting down in one of the chairs they’d occupied before, presumably to fully enjoy the experience, visually. Saoirse beckoned Frances towards her, leading her down another hallway. There were four doors in the hall, one to their left, two to their right and one at the end, which was marked Private. Frances had to admit, it did evoke some curiousity from her. Saoirse opened one of the doors to their right. Frances was relieved to discover it was a bathroom, glistening in white. Frances immediately took off her dress, unsure what to really do with it, until Saoirse opened what appeared to be a laundry bag.

“Put your clothes in here, babe, I’ve got a washing machine in the kitchen, so we can get your clothes clean” Saoirse explained. Frances didn’t even care that she was standing in her underwear in front of Saoirse, though she did surprise herself when she removed her bra, suspender belt and thong, placing them into the bag; respectfully, Saoirse had clearly averted her gaze, Frances noticed, as she took off her shoes, allowing her to take off her stockings, placing them into the bag, as well. She had left a streak of purple out of the bathroom, presumably all the way to the tank. Frances started the shower and began to clean the gunge from her hair and body.

Once Frances had gotten cleaned up, she wrapped a towel around herself. The gunge stain on the bathroom floor was gone, presumably Saoirse had cleaned that up immediately. Frances didn’t know whether to venture out of the bathroom or to wait; Saoirse had said she was going to put her clothes in the wash, but what Frances had not considered in her pursuit of getting cleaned up was what was she meant to do in the mean time? She wanted to leave as soon as was humanly possible, putting this whole experience behind her (ideally, to never speak of it again) but she couldn’t very well walk out the door in just a towel; she would be arrested. There was a knock on the bathroom door, which prompted Frances to sigh with relief, then instructed whoever was outside to enter. Saoirse entered, covering her eyes with her hand, with her free hand, holding some clothes.

“They may not fit perfectly but they will do until your clothes are ready, or if you want to leave” Saoirse instructed. Frances didn’t look too much at the clothes she’d been offered, what seemed to be a pair of women’s jeans and a T shirt. Frances put them on, becoming very aware that she wasn’t wearing any underwear, with Saoirse having turned her back to Frances. “Are you okay, babe?” Saoirse asked, clearly concerned about Frances’ wellbeing.

“I’m okay. He’s definitely not getting what I planned for his present now…” Frances muttered, angrily. “I was going to let him-” Frances began to explain, almost automatically.

“You don’t have to finish that sentence if you’re not 100% okay with it. I’m just saying, once you say the words, you can’t unsay them. I’ve likely heard way more deviant shit in here, but it’s all about what you’re comfortable with, babe” Saoirse interjected. Frances had to admit, she felt closer with Saoirse now; she didn’t know whether it was what Ellie had shared or something about Saoirse that had put her at ease during another trying time for Frances, emotionally and physically.

“I was going to let him try anal” Frances finished her sentence. She felt a wave of shame wash over her, though not for the usual reason, that she was considering performing what would surely have been classed as a deviant sex act by her parents but because her trust of her partner felt at an all-time low. Saoirse just seemed to nod, acknowledging the information, without comment or judgement. Saoirse opened the bathroom door, leading them back towards the main area of the dungeon. Frances noticed the door next to the bathroom was opened, with what appeared a large kitchen, with all the usual amenities with a large wooden kitchen table and chairs; the kitchen seemed completely at odds with the rest of the apartment, which seemed quite jarring. True to her word, Saoirse had put her clothes, in the laundry bag, into the washing machine. Frances followed behind Saoirse in lock-step, noticing that there was no gunge trail through the hall, either. Saoirse reached the dungeon, pulling up a chair and retrieving something from a shelf.

“You can put that away now, I don’t want to see it” Saoirse uttered in an authoritarian way. Joe immediately responded by fiddling with his trousers. He was red-faced, whether through embarrassment at being caught, or as a result of the act he was just doing. Saoirse instructed Joe to stand up, and for Frances to sit down in the seat next to him. Frances obliged, uncertain what else Saoirse could realistically do to her that would be worse than had already happened. “Okay, in a nutshell, we’ve got a bit of time before your clothes are clean and dry; you’re absolutely free to leave, if you so wish… But then it occurs to me, I’ve been a bit of a bitch; I didn’t get Joe anything for his birthday” Saoirse explained, chipperly. Frances was now able to get a better look at what she had retrieved; she absolutely looked the part now, holding a riding crop.

“You could give me some of my money back” Joe quipped, feeling confident about his situation.

“Yeah, I’m not doing that. What I will do though, is gift you the rest of the session, for free; provided you’re both amenable to continuing” Saoirse explained, pointing the crop at Joe. His eyes immediately, greedily darted towards Frances, presumably contemplating all the things Saoirse might let him do to her. Frances shrugged; she’d already felt like she had hit rock bottom, why not go further? Joe nodded, enthusiastically, upon seeing Frances’ lack of objection to the subject.

“Grand. I do believe I told you to stand up” Saoirse reiterated her instruction, leading Joe to leap to his feet. His fly was still half undone, Frances noticed as he stood. “Now… First part of the session has been all about you, and that’s okay. But that does mean it’s been quite hard on your girl, here, so I want you to put on a show for her…” Saoirse explained.

“What kind of show? What do you think she’d like?” Joe asked, mystified at the prospect.

“Okay, there’s a lot to unpack with that. I mean, you should really know better than I, what your girlfriend likes? But we work with what we’ve got. Let’s start small; strip” Saoirse instructed. Joe began by kicking off his shoes and taking off his jacket, before unbuttoning his shirt. “Judas Priest, Joe, I said strip, make it sexy. You’re not getting a prostate exam at your fucking GP’s office. Even I’m not remotely turned on…” Saoirse joked. Joe proceeded to do his best impression of a lap dance, at Saoirse’s instructions, which Frances followed when asked, getting involved in undressing her man. Joe was now down to his trousers and underwear, thrusting his crotch at Frances’ mouth; she had to admit, she was certainly enjoying this part of the session (though she was quite apprehensive about the direction of traffic; it was clear Joe wanted sex, but what would Saoirse do while they broke their dry spell? Was she going to watch like some sort of film reviewer, giving them a score at the end?). Frances stopped thinking about that, for the moment and pulled at Joe’s trousers, unfastening them. He kicked them off, as Frances placed her hand on his erect penis. Frances pulled his boxers down, leading him to begin stroking himself in front of her face. It was quite clear what he wanted to do next.

“Will you…?” Joe asked, looking her in the eyes as he stepped out of his shorts. For the first time, Frances noticed what Saoirse had been doing; she pulled his boxers towards her with her riding crop, depositing them into another bag (though she had put on a pair of black latex gloves in order to handle his clothes; noticing that Frances had seen what she was doing, she grinned sadistically, putting her finger, from the hand holding the crop to her lips, indicating silence). Frances had to admit, she was now very much intrigued about what was about to transpire. “Um… Could we have some privacy?” Joe asked, becoming very aware of Saoirse’s presence.

“No. And that’s not happening here; if anyone is getting sucked off in my dungeon, it’ll be me, first.” Saoirse asserted herself once more, striking Joe’s naked backside with her riding crop. Joe exclaimed in pain, turning towards Saoirse, his hands now covering his crotch. Now that she had his attention, his eyes were darting around the room, with increasing speed; he was only now realising that she had been gathering up his discarded clothing. Frances giggled, rather enjoying that the tables had been turned.

“But… You don’t have a penis” Joe muttered, a timid protest, based on his very vulnerable position.

“Exactly. So until I spontaneously grow one, then convince Neira to switch teams and try boys - so two things that aren’t happening, for clarity - none of my clients are going to experience being blown in my dungeon. I feel like that’s fair and if you don’t… Well, I couldn’t actually give a shit if you think it’s fair or not” Saoirse explained, whilst handing the bag to Frances.

“What am I doing with these?” Frances queried, trying to catch up with whatever Saoirse’s plan is.

“Whatever you’d like, really. There’s gunge, if you wanted to tip them into a bucket, or the bottom of the tank, get his clothes all messy. You could wear them, I suppose, not sure they’d fit you too well but that’s up to you. You can keep them, make him go home either naked or in whatever he can borrow - and for clarities sake, I don’t keep boys clothes here. I even had one client who was so furious at their partner that they threw them out of the window. Quite funny, that, most of their clothes were gone; apparently, somebody took a shine to them? Except for their shoes and top, weirdly. My point is, they’re now yours to do with as you see fit.” Saoirse explained, revealing the dastardly plan she’d concocted. “I told you I’d make you pay” written all over her face.

“Please, baby, can I have my clothes back? I promise, I’ll be a better boyfriend” Joe pleaded with Frances.

“I can dress him up?” Frances asked, looking to Saoirse.

“Sure, if he’s up for that.” Saoirse commented, seeming completely non-plussed by the situation.

“I don’t think that’s very fair, given what he did to me” Frances argued, frowning heavily at her partner.

“You forgetting the part where I repeatedly told you that you didn’t have to do anything you didn’t want? Same thing applies, here, babe” Saoirse reminded Frances of the rules.

“Aww. But I don’t have to give him his clothes back?” Frances asked trying to discern the rules.

“No. Of course, it’s not me whose going to have to try to smuggle a naked man through a busy part of town at night… So if that’s your thing, you go right ahead” Saoirse clarified; that option suddenly seemed a whole lot less appealing, given that the outcome would likely be Joe being arrested. Frances considered her options for a moment, before she decided on something.

“I want to dress him up. As a girl. Can we transform him?” Frances asked; she surprised herself by how excited she was at the idea, particularly as she’d seen him dressed in women’s clothes before. She considered that it was a combination of their first night together, her suspicion that he’d enjoyed the experience more than he initially let on and her desire to even the score a little.

“Joe? Are you okay with that? Like with her being gunged, only copies of pictures or videos will be sent to her, I don’t keep copies and I take client confidentiality extremely seriously; nobody aside from those present will ever know who did what, to whom, when, where, how or why.” Saoirse asked, trying to put Joe at ease, as she had tried to for Frances earlier. Joe looked at Frances, he looked very vulnerable right now, almost as if wounded. Frances almost considered retracting the idea, he seemed so distraught by it. Joe mumbled something incoherently, with a shrug, which led Saoirse to lead him down the hall. Frances began to follow. She saw a glimpse of the other room, it was very different to the rest of the apartment, more closely resembling a young girl’s bedroom, with bright pink walls and a cute dresser with a big mirror, adorned in pink stars and glitter. Joe entered the room, but Saoirse didn’t immediately follow. She turned to Frances, pulling the door to for the moment.

“If you don’t mind, waiting in another room? I’ll give you a call when I’m ready for you. Grab a wee drink or something, if you like” Saoirse asked, quietly.

“No, I want to watch” Frances insisted, a frown chiseled across her forehead.

“Grand. And you will. Just trust me; I want to make absolutely certain he’s ready for what’s going to happen. I’d not throw you in the deep end, either, so let’s not push boundaries he’s not ready for?” Saoirse explained, in a hushed but authoritative voice. Frances grudgingly accepted, especially as she imagined that Saoirse had come to the same theorised conclusion as Frances; this was something Joe had wanted to try but had never plucked up the courage to ask for.

Frances returned to the main room, perusing the shelves, from what she considered a safe distance. It was still a very surreal experience for her, as she saw boxes filled with various different sex toys and other implements that caused her to gasp in astonishment; she was aware, before now, that these things existed and that people indulged in such practices but she had never seen these things, at least, not this close. It all seemed incredibly full-on to Frances, to the point she almost felt envious, particularly of Saoirse, who seemed to fully and openly embrace her sexuality, shrugging off any labels of deviancies that were levied against her with a nonchalance that made it seem like water off a duck’s back. Frances noticed a carefully disguised cupboard, which she proceeded to quietly open. Inside, carefully organised, were an array of larger devices, such as the now dismantled bondage swing she’d seen. Frances couldn’t help but gasp in astonishment.

“If you like, you can book a session for yourself and I can put you in there” Saoirse remarked upon Frances’ snooping. Evidently, she had been so caught up in her exploration that she hadn’t heard Saoirse approach (or Saoirse had intentionally walked as quietly as possible in order to catch Frances offguard).

“Oh, I - I - I wasn’t -” Frances stammered, trying to think of a way to justify her snooping.

“Sure sure. You weren’t at all curious” Saoirse nodded facetiously. She beckoned Frances to follow her. Once they reached the bedroom, Frances as once again astounded by just how much effort had been put into the decoration of the room. There was even a bed, with a bright pink quilt adorning it. If Frances didn’t know better, she would have believed that Saoirse had an infant daughter who lived there with her before she’d converted the rest of the apartment to her business premises. Joe was sitting at the dressing table, still without his clothes. He seemed especially nervous, almost on the verge of refusing to participate (which made Frances wonder what would happen; though it did retrospectively reinforce what Saoirse had told her - she had, by every tangible measure, agreed to being gunged earlier in the evening). It had so far proven to be a highly unconventional celebration, yet somehow, it wasn’t one Frances had regretted in the least, though she was still reserving regret for the state of her clothing. Saoirse sat down on the bed, as if her role were more indirect for this part of the session. Frances knelt down in front of Joe, as their eyes met. She felt more intimate with him in this moment than she had for some time; was this why they had been distant? Their respective secrets having gotten in the way of being together?

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Frances asked, stroking her partner’s face. “I’ll not think less of you, whatever happens” she added, trying to reassure him as much as possible.

“...No” Joe uttered, nervously, though Frances sensed this was more due to nervousness than refusal. Frances smiled, with a sly giggle. She had to admit, the experience was proving more interesting than she had ever previously considered.

“Underwear is in the drawers over there, dresses in the closet. I’m here if you want help or advice, but otherwise, just try to forget that I’m here” Saoirse pointed, informatively. Frances nodded, pushing her hair back behind her ear. Frances immediately began rummaging through the top drawer, to her surprise, it contained a great deal of lace and satin sets, ranging in sizes (that all wouldn’t fit her, but potentially would Joe). Was this sort of session a lot more common than Frances had initially thought? Frances selected a particularly skimpy thong that seemed mostly translucent and a bra that seemed to match. She grinned sadistically at Joe, who swallowed hard. Saoirse occupied herself on her phone, seemingly blissfully unaware of what was happening as she sang “...And I know that as she found me, for in darkness I was walking and destruction lay around me, for a fight I could not win…” as if to occupy herself. Frances proceeded across the room, helping Joe to slip into the thong. Frances couldn’t stifle her laughter as Joe flinched when the back of the thong disappeared between his cheeks, then focussed her attention on putting on the bra.

“We should wax his legs!” Frances exclaimed, with a surprising enthusiasm. Joe seemed terrified by the prospect, looking more like a deer in headlights, trying to think of some way to escape what now seemed inevitable. Saoirse shook her head, dismissively, not looking up from her phone. “Aww, why not?” Frances asked, almost certain that this would be something Saoirse could do.

“Well, because it will take time, that will cut into the time I can afford to give you and because I’d really rather get home before it’s dark.” Saoirse explained, perhaps making excuses so that Joe didn’t have to. “And that’s not to mention, Joe won’t be able to wear shorts around his mates for at least a week, unless he’s fine with them seeing how smooth and shiny his legs are; kind of a bit of a giveaway that!” Saoirse added, clearly anticipating Joe’s objection to it (even though Frances wasn’t sure Joe even owned shorts, or that he’d made plans that involved wearing them around his friends, she had to concede it was a valid objection). Frances stomped her foot on the floor, pouting in disappointment which seemed to irk Saoirse sufficiently that she looked up from her phone with a stare that seemed to tell Frances not to do that again.

“Okay. Do you have hosiery?” Frances asked, slapping her arms by either side of her hips.

“Do I have… Of course. Second drawer. Fishnets, tights, stockings, suspenders, patterned tights… All that shite” Saoirse waved her off, returning back to what she was doing (and back to her song). Frances sifted through the drawer, true to what she’d said, was a startling array of items, ranging in colour and style. Frances had to admit, she did get a kick out of the idea of putting her boyfriend in stockings and suspenders, realising that he would feel how she had, only a short while before.

“Do you think tights or stockings? I want to say stockings but…” Frances explained, seeking guidance from Saoirse.

“Maybe you’re asking the wrong girl? Just saying, I’m not going to be wearing them” Saoirse explained, pointing towards Joe. Frances looked over at him, holding up the two options. “For me, it depends on the girl. Personally? I hate tights, I never wear them; they’re horrible, confining and restrictive. But some girls prefer them” Saoirse remarked, seemingly for Joe’s benefit.

“What’s the difference?” Joe enquired, clearly feeling that Saoirse was a more impartial source.

“Practically? Not a lot. They’re made up of the same fabric, though tights cover a lot more; stockings can feel really sexy to wear and there is something really hot when your girl wears them too… But that’s possibly a me thing? You’ve worn tights before, so I’d say it depends how adventurous you want to be. Do you want to play it safe and conservative or do you want to push the boat out and be sexy and adventerous?” Saoirse surmised Joe’s options. Frances walked closer to him, her hands out for him to choose which option he’d prefer. Joe took both from Frances’ hands, then Frances set to checking the closet for a dress.

Frances gasped with astonishment when she saw what the closet contained. It was exceptionally well organised, with gowns and beautiful dresses separated onto the left hand side with the right, the larger side, being exclusively what seemed like uniforms; there were French maids outfits, a standard black satin with a white trim, then a very minimalist dress (that Frances wondered if it would even cover everything required on a woman, let alone on a man) right through to what seemed to be either PVC or rubber. There were other uniforms and costumes, such as a Saloon girl costume, a Faerie costume, a ballerina’s dress (Frances presumed there was a selection of leotards to go with it in one of the drawers). Frances felt spoiled for choice, thoroughly enjoying the experience, before it had even really began. Strangely, it no longer felt like the revenge she had thought it would; no, the feeling had evolved into something better, something more intimate. Frances selected the traditional maids dress, deciding to go for a more classic option for the occasion and closed the closet.

Frances was quite surprised, Saoirse was helping Joe, who had opted with black tights (though upon reflection, it made sense, since it was likely that if left to his own devices, Joe would end up putting his fingers through them several times before he’d even managed to get them up to his knees). Saoirse coached him with instructions and encouragement as he went. Frances showed Saoirse the dress she had chosen, and Saoirse stood up, stepping out of the way.

“What do you think? You’re going to be a maid!” Frances uttered, excitedly. Joe didn’t seem to immediately share Frances’ excitement, though she wondered if this was part of his preferred experience, that he pretended not to enjoy himself.

“Again, I’m going to remind you, you don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for” Saoirse interjected. Frances felt the immediate urge to object, but she remembered that Saoirse had afforded her that same courtesy, so she knew she would have little basis for objection. Hearing no objections, Saoirse signalled Frances to proceed. She unzipped the black dress, holding it out for Joe to step into, pulling it up, helping him to put his arms into the holes. Frances then proceeded to affix the white apron to his waist. Once the outfit was on, Saoirse assisted in helping the pair to choose a wig for Joe to wear for the remainder of the session, reiterating words of encouragement. Frances pondered the choice, yet she was sternly informed that this choice was not for her but for her partner; the objection made sense to Frances, upon further thought. Once he’d chosen a dark haired wig (a colour close to his own natural colour) the women proceeded to carefully and meticulously apply his make-up.

Saoirse had suggested a rare mercy, offering to let Joe complete the look with a pair of feminine, yet flat, footwear (her reasoning, as she stated, was that it would take time for Joe to learn to walk in heels which would surely slow down the service he would be expected to provide). Frances grudgingly agreed, though she did confess that she wanted to see Joe trying to walk in heels for the first time, even though she was aware that this was just one of many ‘firsts’ they could experience, together, should they agree to pursue such a fetish in the longer term. With that, Joe was now ready to begin serving as their maid.

“I have some quite strict rules for my girls, when they serve as maids in my dungeon; first of all, as should be quite obvious, is that she responds to the correct pronouns - she/her, maid, girl, a feminine name, if she’s chosen one for herself. The name is up to you, of course, I’m not going to force one onto you but you’ll have to accept girl or maid until you’ve chosen one. Secondly, I expect her to curtsey whenever she greets us, she’s in our service so she should behave accordingly. She speaks only when spoken to, if we’re kind enough to give her a break then she sits with her legs together or crossed. Thirdly, and this is important, I take infractions to the rules very seriously. Minor infractions will be met with a swift and immediate punishment, repeated ones, or larger infractions, will result in her being given a strike; if she receives three strikes then she’s dismissed from her job. Do you understand those rules?” Saoirse explained at the doorway to the bedroom. Joe seemed utterly lost for words, shaking nervously but nodded, timidly.

“What happens to girls who get three strikes?” Frances asked.

“...They’re dismissed, I just said that” Saoirse reiterated, clearly taking a distaste to the question.

“No, I mean, what happens when she’s dismissed” Frances clarified.

“What normally happens when you’re dismissed from a job?” Saoirse asked, as if the question answered itself. “She will be forced to leave the premises; to be clear, I don’t let her get changed, there’s no delays, she’s handed her things - by which I mean, wallet, keys, phone, anything else that was in her pockets when she arrived - and she’s shown the door.” Saoirse revealed, showing that the stakes couldn’t be higher for what remained of Joe’s dignity. With that, Saoirse let Frances to the kitchen, pulling up a chair and gesturing for her to do the same. Joe followed shortly behind them, leading Saoirse to point to different cupboards, allowing Joe to retrieve wine glasses and a bottle from the fridge. Saoirse lay the riding crop down on the table, allowing its menace to ooze threateningly.

“Oh, I can’t drink, I drove here” Frances explained, her hand out to signify her objection.

“So? Get a taxi, or get Joe to drive. I’m assuming Joe can drive? What were you going to do if you were going to a fancy restaurant, not drink?” Saoirse tackled Frances objection. Frances had to admit, the idea of watching Joe pour her a glass of wine did seem particularly appealing. Frances nodded in agreement and Joe proceeded to pour the wine, followed by a bad attempt at a curtsey. Frances laughed, hysterically, yet Saoirse seemed utterly unimpressed. She stood up, retrieving a bucket and sponge from under the sink, placing them on the side, with a bottle of washing up liquid and a set of pink marigolds. Frances took the opportunity to glance at the washing machine, which was nearing the end of its washing cycle now, noticing that the purple had all but gone from her garments (and only a slight tinge seemed to be present in the water, though that could have been the detergent or simply her magination). Joe looked curiously at Saoirse, clearly eager to say something but abundantly aware of the rules.

“Well, you need something to do while we don’t need you; I do believe somebody made a mess of my gunge tank and I just don’t feel like cleaning it. Not when I have a maid who can make it sparkle for me. So go on, bitch, get to work!” Saoirse barked her instruction, pointing towards the utensils she’d provided.

The two women shared a drink and chatted while Joe attended the job he’d been given (which from the sounds he was making and the progress made from when Frances had looked in on him, seemed a lot more difficult than it had at first seemed; or perhaps, Joe simply wasn’t very good at it). Frances wasn’t sure why she mentioned it, perhaps the wine had gone to her head or perhaps she was feeling particularly relaxed but she addressed her suspicion with Saoirse that her wife, Neira, didn’t like her and why.

“She doesn’t know you to dislike you to be fair; as far as I’m aware, she likes all of you, as much as she actually can at least. No, she’s always felt a bit awkward around new people, especially straight girls who know she’s gay. Apparently, when she was at college, this girl knew she was gay, she told her that she looked really pretty and this girl looked at her like Red had told her ‘I want to lick all your holes’.” Saoirse clarified, in a very matter of fact way. Frances couldn’t help but choke on her drink, particularly as the very idea of those words coming from the shy red head’s mouth seemed completely out of character.

“She did not say that!” Frances exclaimed, trying to recover.

“To the girl? No, she just told her she looked pretty” Saoirse clarified.

“No, I mean…” Frances trailed off, trying to find the best way to say what she intended, without being offensive.

“That Neira seems like a really sweet, innocent, shy girl who never says or does anything unladylike?” Saoirse paraphrased her question. It was clear from her choice of words that Saoirse didn’t like that description of her spouse.

“Um… Kind of?” Frances begrudgingly agreed, not being able to think of a better way to describe what she meant.

“She is sweet and very shy, she’s also really nice, she doesn’t really dislike people or fall out with anyone, always tries to see the best in people… But don’t mistake any of that for what it’s not; she can be all those things and fully embrace her sexuality, in fact, I really dislike this whole notion that girls don’t do that. Why not? Why can’t we enjoy sex as much as boys? Because I’ll tell you right now, if girls didn’t enjoy sex, humans as a species would have likely died out centuries ago. Just like what you like, whatever you call yourself, why be ashamed of enjoying something? As long as it’s with consenting adults, I couldn’t give a fuck!” Saoirse ranted a little. Frances had to admit, she had an argument.

“I really wish I could live like that” Frances confessed, timidly. She explained that she’d been told all her life what she should and shouldn’t do, based on an outdated model, due to her own parents having a very conservative upbringing. She went to great lengths to explain, she didn’t resent them for their choices, especially as there was wisdom in their words, yet sometimes she felt like it put her at odds with the rest of society, making her feel like she struggled to fit in.

“You kind of already are, babe. We’re quite far off the reservation, in terms of kink, right now; no reason for you to not explore whatever avenue you enjoy. If it gives you pleasure and Joe is up for it, nobody else will even know. Can I ask you a really personal question?” Saoirse asked, ringing a little bell as she noticed Frances’ glass was nearing empty. Joe hurried in, his wig now slightly ajar, his dress having splatterings of purple gunge where he’d gotten too close to the sides. Saoirse shook her head in disapproval. “This just isn’t good, girl, you need to do a lot better at keeping your pretty dress clean, or I’m going to have to punish you” Saoirse explained, the words rolling off her tongue incredibly naturally.

“I’m sorry” Joe mumbled, clearly unsure what else to say. Saoirse promptly collected the riding crop, striking Joe hard on his backside with it. He exclaimed in pain and surprise.

“Mistress. I’m sorry, Mistress.” Saoirse emphasised the missing word.

“I’m sorry, Mistress” Joe corrected.

“Better. Now, refill these glasses; and you’d better not leave any gunge anywhere, or that will be a strike” Saoirse instructed, holding the crop at the ready. Joe carefully removed one of the rubber gloves, carefully retrieving the bottle. Frances took the opportunity to admire the way the dress looked on Joe with a keen fascination. Joe refilled Saoirse’s glass after, finishing the bottle, placing it in the appropriate bin to be recycled later, returning to the assigned duty he’d been given, not before another poorly executed attempt at a curtey. With Joe out of the room, Saoirse looked to Frances, waiting for the answer to her question.

“Um… Okay” Frances reticently agreed.

“You don’t have to tell me, so don’t feel pressured or anything. Have you ever had an orgasm during sex?” Saoirse posed her question. Frances was caught offguard by the question, presumably prompted by what she knew was a slightly more uptight attitude, particularly when discussing such matters (she preferred to stay quiet and out of the conversation to avoid sharing such personal details).

“I like sex, it feels nice” Frances answered, nodding somewhat forcedly.

“That’s good, but that’s also not what I asked” Saoirse scrutinised her answer. Frances scolded herself, she should have realised that anything short of a direct yes or no answer (or a refusal to answer, which she knew would ostensibly be taken as a no). Frances took a large mouthful of wine, as if to garner courage to answer. She was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol on her system.

“No” Frances confessed. She felt almost ashamed of that fact, like she’d done something wrong. Saoirse just nodded, again, like she took it on board without comment.

“Okay. Thank you for telling me” Saoirse remarked, making it clear that she took no value judgement upon Frances’ character on the answer. It was quite clear she wanted to ask further questions but she didn’t wish to push Frances further from her comfort zone. Saoirse lifted her glass to take a drink.

“I’ve… Never had an orgasm. At all. Do you think that makes me a freak?” Frances blurted out, regretting the question as soon as she had said it. Saoirse didn’t immediately remark, instead putting her glass back down onto the wooden table.

“I don’t like that word, far too much negativity around it. But in any case, the answer is no. Have you never… Done it yourself, then?” Saoirse asked, trying to be as diplomatic as possible.

“No. Girls don’t do that.” Frances answered, automatically, realising she had pretty much spoken and her father’s voice came out of her mouth; in direct contradiction to Saoirse’s earlier rant. If she had a reaction, it didn’t show on her face. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that…” Frances covered her face, feeling more than a little ashamed, like she had somehow judged her friend harshly.

“We’ll come back to that, another time. In the mean time…” Saoirse paused, retrieving something from a bag that she kept on the counter, whilst checking on the washing machine. It appeared to be nearly finished, from the signs Frances could see, it definitely seemed encouraging. Saoirse returned to the table, handing Frances what seemed like a business card, gripping her glass with her other hand, taking a large drink. The card seemed to be vague in its nature, indicating the owner as ‘Morrigan’ and detailing how to contact this person, but with no indication of the nature of the business involved.

“Morrigan?” Frances queried.

“Aye. Irish God of death and war. Seemed fitting for my Domme identity, so I adopted her name; she seems to be okay with it. If you want to book a future appointment, for you or for you and Joe, this is a safe space where you can explore your sexuality in whatever ways you wish. Shall we check on how she’s doing, while your clothes finish?” Saoirse explained, pointing towards where Joe was presumably hard at work. Frances giggled, leaping to her feet. She was quite keen to see how Joe had done (poorly, she imagined, judging by the state of him; she also couldn’t help but wonder what Saoirse would do to him as a result). The pair left the kitchen, but not before Saoirse grabbed her riding crop, walking into what Frances presumed used to be the living room area of the apartment. Saoirse sighed, clearly disappointed with Joe’s progress. As Frances entered the room, she saw a disheartened Joe, bowing his head. He had made some progress, however, there seemed to be watery purple streaks down the sides of the perspex walls inside the tank. The bucket and sponge were now very much the same colour as the gunge that he was cleaning out, leading Frances to extrapolate that he had simply neglected to get a fresh bucket to continue the job, leading to the streaks. It was a amateur mistake, and one Frances was sure he would live to regret.

“Oh dear. You’ve not been a very good maid, have you, girl?” Saoirse addressed Joe, with a particularly disdainful tone.

“I’m sorry, Mistress” Joe uttered, hoping it might afford him some mercy.

“But that doesn’t make the job done, now does it? It doesn’t even take me ten minutes to clean it, yet you? You’ve managed to fuck it up, despite having more than twice that time” Saoirse continued, her tone morphing from disdainful to wrathful; Frances shivered slightly, more than a little glad she wasn’t in Joe’s position right now. Saoirse’s tone certainly seemed to fit the name of a God of war. Saoirse turned to Frances, her demeanour seemingly changing as she switched to a calmer, friendlier posture as she moved. “What’s your favourite colour, babe?” Saoirse asked.

“Oh God, please don’t gunge me, Mistress, not dressed like th-” Joe pleaded, sensing the direction of traffic.

“You will speak only when you’re spoken to, bitch. That’s your first strike. I have no fucking problem marching a bitch out of here, dressed as a maid and covered in gunge. Do you want that?” Saoirse interjected, somehow seeming more wrathful than before.

“No Mistress” Joe responded, stepping backwards, as Saoirse pushed him back with her riding crop. She pushed the door shut, trapping Joe inside. His fate, it seemed, was now sealed.

“You came here because you wanted to gunge a pretty girl; well, I guess birthday wishes really do come true, because two pretty girls are getting gunged, aren’t they?” Saoirse asked, looking between Frances and Joe.

“Yes Mistress” Frances found herself answering, almost in unison with Joe. The response astounded her, especially given how she felt in the moment; perhaps it was the wine, lowering her inhibitions, perhaps it was the realisation that, as Saoirse had said, she was in a safe place where she could explore her own identity without fear of judgement, or perhaps it was simpler than that; the realisation that she had been trying desperately to avoid, since that morning she realised she had been dreaming about her own experiences, that she simply enjoyed what she was doing. Though the truth was likely a combination of them all. Saoirse pointed Frances to a cabinet next to the tank, which blended into the overall feel of the room, easily escaping her notice. Frances opened it, noticing it was filled with bottles of gunge, in a variety of different colours. Frances perused the available colours, picking out a magenta pink bottle, a bright red, a sunflower yellow and a pale green. Saoirse instructed her to empty the bottles into the tank, while she checked on her clothes. Frances did as she was bade, embracing the realisation that she was enjoying the novel experience; the evening had, upon reflection, been far from the disaster she had thought initially.

The colours all bled together quite beautifully, creating an interesting collage. Joe shifted uncomfortably in the seat, Frances wasn’t sure whether this was due to his underwear, some residual gunge on the stool he was sat on, or whether it was simply due to what was about to happen to him. Frances considered pulling the handle, keeping the experience private but she refrained, recalling that Joe received video of Frances getting messy; Frances grinned, realising that she would soon have such evidence that she could laud over her partner, if she should so desire. Saoirse returned, though she was empty handed which gave Frances pause.

“Did my dress get clean?” Frances asked, with bated breath.

“Oh aye. It’s grand. Still a wee bit damp, so hung it up in the other room for you to change into; I’m assuming you don’t want to go home wearing my old clothes. But that’s your choice, of course.” Saoirse explained, before turning her attention to Joe. “Come on girl, give us a smile… A nice, big, birthday girl smile” Saoirse uttered, her tone equal parts encouraging and affectionately teasing.

“I hadn’t thought, she’s the birthday girl!” Frances confessed, gleefully. Joe forced a smile, which Saoirse promptly photographed.

“Beautiful. Do you want to tell her what she was getting, before you give her the present she’s getting now?” Saoirse asked, gesturing towards the tank. Frances felt a familiar sense of shame and repression again. “It’s your choice, your truth to share or not to share; just seems like it might be the cherry on top for her, knowing what you had planned? Ooh, that could be a really cute name for her, Cherry?” Saoirse added. Frances didn’t know why but she opened the door to the tank, briefly sitting on Joe’s lap, running her hands over the satin dress. She couldn’t be sure whether it was the case before that moment or not, but he definitely had an erection (he must have taken some effort to conceal it while she filled the tank, if it was before now, Frances speculated).

“Mmm, is that for me?” Frances whispered in Joe’s ear. It was an uncharacteristically sexual reaction for her, but she felt for certain that she was being caught up in the moment. She kissed her partner, tasting lipstick on him, which caused her to giggle. She whispered what she had planned into his ear, then informed him that she had now changed her mind; that this was his present before she stepped down, careful to not step into any gunge that remained in the tank.

“If you want to join her, that’s fine; though I will want my clothes back first. You can always join her naked? Could be fun…” Saoirse teased. Frances shook her head, realising that Saoirse had recorded the entire exchange. Frances felt more than a little nervous, contemplating whether or not Saoirse (and subsequently the recording she was making) would have heard what she said. Without further ado, Frances took hold of the handle, as Joe covered his crotch with his hands. Saoirse instructed Frances to remove Joe’s wig, before she proceeded, leaving his hair looking particularly unkempt. Frances soaked up the moment, then wasted no further time before she pulled the handle. The magenta was first out, covering Joe with a rather satisfying slop, as it sprayed over his head and down his dress. Frances laughed, as she realised that Joe’s bra, tights and thong were all going to soon be filled with gunge, meaning it was now an experience they had both shared. Joe seemed eager to keep his genitals covered, perhaps to avoid any speculation that he was enjoying the experience more than he would later claim. The yellow and the green had seemed to merge, covering Joe at the same time, which left the pink to linger at the bottom of Joe’s outfit, covering his calves with streaks of magenta. Finally came the red. Joe’s face was now completely covered and there was more than a little evidence that Joe’s tights were filled with gunge as it oozed out from the bottom of the once black dress. Frances clapped her hands together, once, leaning back to emit a cackle. She had thoroughly enjoyed getting her revenge.

Saoirse, true to her word and previous actions, sent the video to Frances, then deleted the original, before she led Joe to the bathroom, as she had Frances before. Once again, there was a trail of gunge leading towards the bathroom, only this time, Frances noticed, Saoirse quickly used the towel she’d placed on the floor to collect the majority of the mess; Frances presumed this was the best approach. Frances followed a step behind Saoirse, who seemed almost on autopilot, as the trio parted ways at their respective rooms, Saoirse helping Joe into the bathroom for a much needed shower and Frances to the pink bedroom to get changed.

“I take it you’re going to let Joe has his clothes back?” Saoirse asked in a hushed tone. Frances smirked at the prospect of saying no; though she had to wonder, would Saoirse even let her do that at this junction? She had gotten her revenge, this would surely be veering into unfairness, wouldn’t it? Frances decided not to push the issue, nodding in agreement. Saoirse acknowledged her agreement, then Frances instinctively closed the door to the bedroom, undressing in privacy.

Epilogue

Frances had changed back into her clothes, opting against reapplying her make-up. She exited the bedroom, while she waited for Joe. She noticed Saoirse had also changed her clothes, now wearing a white T shirt with a logo even Frances knew to belong to the Rolling Stones, and a pair of jeans, not dissimilar to the ones Frances had borrowed. She didn’t appear to immediately notice Frances, as she walked to the kitchen, a bucket in her hands. She emptied the contents as she sang to herself. Frances slipped into the kitchen, quietly behind her, not wishing to interrupt. Frances checked the time, it was now pushing early evening, but by no means was the evening over. What would they do with the time they had left? Frances had to admit, the whole experience had certainly had the desired effect, at least for her; based on Joe’s earlier behaviour, it had done for him, too. Saoirse emptied the bucket into the sink, then strode across the kitchen, opening the fridge, gesturing to Frances with a half full bottle of wine. Frances agreed, the entire evening still feeling somewhat surreal for her.

“I’m guessing this couldn’t have been further from what you expected, for tonight?” Saoirse asked, with a wry grin. It seemed that when she changed her clothes, she ceased to be Morrigan, whoever she was, and became herself again.

“That’s an understatement!” Frances exclaimed.

“Did you enjoy yourself, though?” Saoirse asked, almost as if she knew the answer. “It’s okay if you did” She added, reassuringly. Frances couldn’t bring herself to say the word, at least, not yet, instead she just nodded. She had enjoyed herself, and as Saoirse had said, that was okay, she was, after all, an adult, who was enjoying something (albeit something others might deem unusual, out of their lack of understanding, even she didn’t understand it herself) with someone she loved, so it was, as they say, all just good clean fun, at least, relatively speaking.

“I thought Joe had booked that restaurant across the way…” Frances explained, feeling somewhat silly now.

“That explains a lot. He really should have told you. Do you have plans for the rest of the evening?” Saoirse nodded, clearly filling in the blanks.

“No, I don’t think so. Did you want to do something?” Frances asked, a little awkwardly.

“That would be weird, we just did something very together; you two should do something intimate, that doesn’t involve me. Besides, I have a wife to go home to” Saoirse remarked, in a far more casual way than Frances was expecting. “I do, however, know the matre di at that place, I can probably get you a table there, if Joe ever finishes in the shower, of course. I swear, boys moan about how long we take to get ready, not one word about the finished article, and yet they spend so much time showering! I don’t get it. Ugh, just reminds me why I do not miss boys…” Saoirse offered, suggesting a good opportunity for them to enjoy an intimate evening and reflect on the events they had experienced together.

“You’d do that?” Frances asked, caught off-guard. Saoirse simply typed something on her phone, receiving a prompt response.

“Sure. It’s yours, if you want it. You’ll need to pay the bill, of course, but just tell them your reservation is under Morrigan, and they will give you a good table.” Saoirse explained. Frances was still quite taken aback by her generosity.

“How do you…” Frances trailed off, not sure she even wanted the answer.

“I don’t remember. I mean, it’s perfectly plausible that he’s friends with Neira, that I helped get him his job there, business person to business person and that I use my Domme name there because I don’t like people to use my real name around here? Not that I’d tell you, if it were for another reason, of course.” Saoirse explained, with a devious smile. Frances had to admit, it was plauslble, so much so she almost believed it.

Joe eventually made his way out of the bedroom, though he still seemed a little shaken from the experience. Saoirse made a point of greeting him with an enthusiastic welcome, which he returned, timidly and nervously. Frances stood up and walked towards him, embracing him and giving him a passionate kiss. She could tell he had resisted the urge to deal with himself which certainly meant that the remainder of their evening was hopeful.

“Did you enjoy your birthday, Joe?” Saoirse asked, before adding the same caveat she had for Frances, “it’s okay if you did” Joe looked deep into Frances eyes, she didn’t need the answer, because she already knew what he was going to say; she hoped, she didn’t need to tell him, either.