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Total Career Wipeout Ch. 01

By: ArbagastLives



All characters involved in the following story are over eighteen. Please note that this is a work of fiction set in the near future, is not based on any real persons or TV shows, and certainly not intended to excuse acts of non-consensual sex under any circumstances. Do not read on if you are likely to be offended by explicit material, black humour or bad puns! Do let me know of any mistakes or suggestions.

This story was checked by Volunteer Editor Robertreams

(from News Nightly, 11th October:)

On TV screens over the past year, a surprising new ratings hit has emerged. "Total Career Wipeout" is a live broadcast quiz show with a difference. Every Saturday night, under-performing undergraduates are given the opportunity to redeem themselves by showing off their knowledge in a winner-takes-all contest. Four failing female university students compete in each bout, and there's a rich reward for the winner, who is readmitted on their chosen course, with her tuition fees paid off in full! 

But for the losers, as the title suggests, humiliation beckons. At the start of each bout, students are paired up with a male counterpart whose job it is to administer penalties whenever a girl comes up with a wrong answer. To begin with, these forfeits involve losing items of clothing. But in the latter stages, the punishments become ever more severe, culminating in the most clueless contestant being served up naked to her allotted partner for a full-blown sex session!

Naturally, the show has to comply with broadcasting regulations, so all "below the belt" action is tastefully concealed behind screens. But although viewers only get to see the ladies from the waist up, their expressions say it all as the game hots up and both points and pants are dropped! 

Though the show finally cleared the censors early last year, it still sparks huge controversy. Over the past eighteen months, the UK media regulator has received a record number of viewer complaints concerning "TCW" (as it's known to its fans), with some accusing it of being "...the most outrageously indecent program ever seen on television".

Hoping to address this criticism, the production company's press officer, Ms Nina Letverson, spoke to our reporter last week:

"I'd ask people to remember that whenever we see original programming that pushes the boundaries, it always meets resistance from some sectors of the audience. In part, I think this arises from confusion: what is the TCW show actually about? Well, first and foremost it's meant to entertain, but of course there's a lot more to it than that. In this age of austerity we really appreciate what a struggle it is for students to fund their university education and, through this program, we hope to contribute some small measure of help. That's how the show was originally conceived, and it still gives me huge personal satisfaction knowing we've set so many young women on the path to an exciting new future.

"When we first appealed for contestants, we really didn't know what the response would be. As it turned out we were deluged with thousands of applicants to sift through. I have to confess, for the pilot show, we did pick out the most "camera-friendly" candidates at auditions. Unsurprisingly that drew some cynical comments from the critics! But it's totally untrue that we only ever choose the prettiest students; what you witness on screen is simply their natural beauty and personality coming out.

"Of course, there'd be no show at all without the men to partner the girls! We'd expected that finding them would be the hard part, but luckily we came across a great source of helpful, co-operative chaps who couldn't wait to get stuck in. Let's be honest, the public should be thanking those guys for injecting some life into the dreary Saturday night TV schedules - and the girls too, of course!"

However, a rather different view is taken by Tammy Shobuern, media affairs student and spokeswoman for the protest group "Studies Not Studs". From the outset, Tammy has angrily condemned the TCW show, branding it "a cynical ploy, working to a hidden agenda". And this young lady should know what she's talking about, because she was a contestant on the very first show, back in spring last year! Interviewed by our reporter yesterday, Tammy explained her change of heart towards the program:

(Tammy): "What your readers should bear in mind is the socio-political background here. This government is desperate to halt the falling birth-rate, and the resulting national population decline. Basically the "Total Career Wipeout" show is just an exercise in social engineering, aimed at raising the rate of conception among young women. The whole thing is very cleverly contrived: by focussing on the lucky winners and celebrating their achievement, they divert attention from the fate of the losers, who suddenly find themselves consigned to pregnancy and motherhood. Although these girls eventually settle down happily with their new families, the way their education and career prospects are effectively trashed for the foreseeable future is totally unacceptable. But the authorities know they can get away with this kind of thing because, frankly, lazy students never inspire much sympathy; the public just love to see us humiliated!"

(NN): "But surely this is an independent business venture, nothing to do with government policy?"

(Tammy): "Check it out - the C.E.O. of the show's production company and the Deputy Minister for Fertility are first cousins! As I said, the relentless decline in the birth-rate has got these people worried, and they'll try anything to curb it, even though their own education policies are largely to blame for that downward trend in the first place."

(NN): "That's quite a contentious argument: aren't there many factors behind the falling birth rate? Isn't it just that more women are choosing career over family these days?"

(Tammy): "Absolutely - and it can all be traced back to the mounting cost of higher education. Ever since the banks stopped issuing student loans, finding £10,000 a year for tuition fees has become a Herculean task for Britain's undergraduates. There's only one way that most full-time students can get their hands on that kind of money: every evening, thousands of sophisticated, respectable young women are finishing off their assignments and heading downtown to flaunt their bodies at strip joints or lap-dancing clubs. Of course, it's much easier for the ladies to get this kind of work, hence the gender imbalance on campus with women now comprising four-fifths of all undergraduates. And it's reckoned over eighty percent of those find employment in so-called "gentlemen's clubs", often working seven nights a week just to keep up with their course fees. No wonder we hear about students falling asleep during lectures! 

"Most ironically, this limitless supply of willing girls has depressed the very wage rates that attracted them to the business in the first place. To make up the shortfall, they're now having to work even harder, spreading their legs ever wider in the quest for punters' tips! After enduring three years of that, is it surprising that most women opt for professional careers over having babies? We believe they've earned their right to choose."

(NN): "And, by the same token, surely they can choose whether to go on this TV show or not?"

(Tammy): "Look, you have to appreciate the level of desperation that would make somebody audition for a show like this. The new "constant assessment" rules at university are so draconian that it only takes a few bad test scores for a student to be suspended - at which point she becomes legally liable for the full course fees. Just at that moment, a letter lands on her mat offering her the chance to re-enrol on her course, have her fees paid off in full and magically solve all her financial problems - all in exchange for simply appearing on some gameshow! Still recovering from the shock of being suspended, you can understand how some students might see this as their only option."

(NN): "Some would seem a bit of an understatement; every Thursday, hundreds of new hopefuls can be seen waiting outside the studios for auditions. They all seem like sensible, intelligent young women - surely they know what they're doing?"

(Tammy): "The trouble is, the internet is so full of rumours, nobody knows what to believe. While one forum is denouncing it as a front for an escort agency, saying the losing girls are actually hookers, somewhere else somebody's claiming the whole show's a fraud and the sex is all simulated! When I auditioned for the show last year, I seriously believed that all I needed to do was sit in that "bondage chair" thing and answer a few questions - at worst, I thought I might lose my top and have to perform my best fake orgasm! It was only when the manacles clicked shut that I realised the truth, and by then it was too late. Thankfully I came through my experience unscathed; but many aren't so fortunate."

(NN): "And yet, people are queuing up to play - surely they must know nudity is involved, if they've ever seen an episode of the show?"

(Tammy): "Well, yes but... look, these are just ordinary girls with hopes and dreams like everybody else. Just because many of them work in establishments where they shake their bits for men's entertainment doesn't make them sluts. But don't you think that having to do that kind of work, night after night, might have left their judgement a little distorted? Besides which, most of them believe they'll answer all the questions easily without doing any forfeits. And under normal circumstances, they would - they're all highly educated young women. But as any quiz show contestant will tell you, it's totally different when those lights come on and the floor manager shouts "we're live!" In that moment, your mind goes blank - especially with an added distraction pointing right between your legs!" 

(NN): "The show's supporters (and there are many) point to programs like "The Weakest Link", claiming the losers' humiliation on TCW is no worse than that show's infamous "walk of shame". Shouldn't we keep a sense of humour about things? The primary aim of the show is to entertain, after all?"

(Tammy): "If it's all about entertainment, then why don't the male volunteers wear condoms? When challenged on this point, the program makers insist that the intercourse needs to be "as authentic as possible, to maintain a real sense of drama"; apparently this also extends to giving the girls blood tests to check they're not on the pill. Unsurprisingly, every week up to half-a-dozen girls are sent home with an unwanted reminder of their illicit liaisons. And what happens when they try to track down the fathers of the babies they're carrying? It turns out all these men are failed asylum seekers who've just been deported! I've spoken to scores of tearful students who've spent months trying to trace their absconded partners, some even flying out to Africa or Asia and wandering the slums and shanties, brandishing photos of their wayward lovers. But with just a name and country of origin to go on, it's hopeless. Nobody has ever explained how these men are chosen, or why they're always deported so quickly after the show. All we have are rumours that they're being medically screened, apparently looking for individuals with high sperm counts - sounds like somebody's trying to guarantee lots of fruitful unions!"

(NN): "The asylum seekers accusation is a controversial one; how come, in over eighty shows, no contestant has ever raised this issue?"

(Tammy): "True, you never hear direct criticisms from the players. But if you watch the girls' expressions when they first lay eyes on their partners, it's easy to guess what they're thinking! What a comment on our politically-correct times, that you can pick any college student, shove her into the arms of some random stranger and she won't say a word of complaint in case she looks prejudiced. When I took part in the show, I found myself sitting next to a very well-mannered linguistics undergraduate from Exeter who got paired up with a huge Jamaican man. I felt so sorry for this lass - she was clearly nervous and kept fluffing every question, and you just knew how it would all end. When the inevitable "crunch point" arrived, it was obvious from all the grunting and gasping that she was having real trouble accommodating his manhood. But she never uttered a word of protest, even when her partner informed everybody (in quite obscene language) that he was about to ejaculate inside of her - in fact she complemented him with a noisy climax of her own as he did so! That's how afraid these girls are of coming across as racist!"

(NN): "But, many would argue that this is exactly the kind of work incentive students need. You can't deny university test scores have climbed remarkably since the program was first broadcast last year?"

(Tammy): "Yes, but as I say that's not the real reason for its existence. Besides, for those students who lose, it's a disaster: that aspiring linguistics student I mentioned is now a single mum on a council estate. She loves her baby twins of course, but her fifteen minutes of fame turned out to be a career-ending calamity!"

(NN): "As you know, the highest number of viewer complaints about TCW are over the obscene nature of its content. Are they right to be more concerned about this than any political agenda the show might have?"

(Tammy): "Well of course, regardless of the political arguments, TCW ought to be banned for obscenity. But it neatly sidesteps the broadcasting regulations by only filming the women from the waist up. In theory, only the other contestants and a few crew members see what happens behind those screens; but what they don't tell people about are the hi-def zoom-lens cameras concealed in the lighting rigs and the pinhole devices hidden in the stalls. When questioned over these, the production company claim this taping is necessary "for legal reasons", and assure us that none of the material is intended for broadcast. But I recently managed to view some of those recordings and believe me, they spare no blushes - full penetration and everything! I for one would like to know what happens to all that footage. In the disclaimer which the students sign, there's no mention of it. Someone, somewhere is amassing a huge stockpile of hardcore pornographic material with no legal restrictions over what they might do with it; no wonder they're happy to pay off a few course fees! 

(NN): "And yet, even with its "modest" camera angles, the show is wildly popular: from its original Saturday late slot, it's now poised to conquer the airwaves. Surely the public are voting with their remote controls?"

(Tammy): "If this despicable show really goes out three times a week as planned, it will be an outrage. We'll be looking at a baby factory operating at full tilt, pumping out over four hundred pregnancies a year while the viewing public sits there applauding the whole thing! Our organisation is trying to alert people to what's really happening; it's been slow going, but at last the message seems to be getting through. We're seeing the number of auditionees drop off, and I'm confident that a year from now, the whole show will be nothing more than a bad memory - unfortunately, every week it's still running, TCW is providing the cream of our nation's youth with plenty of bad memories and more..." 

* * * *

So, that's the situation according to the protest group "Studies Not Studs". Who is right on this issue? American audiences will soon be able to make up their own minds, because the show's first run is due to be repeated on the States Wide Network in the new year. However, in order to properly assess all the evidence, our reporter was recently given access to one set of complete recordings, including the secret footage alluded to by Tammy Shobuern. It made interesting viewing...

* * * *

Behind the curtain, the four students line up on stage, fidgeting self-consciously as they shuffle into place. It's the first time any of them have laid eyes on each other, and they glance sidelong at their opponents, swapping polite smiles while covertly sizing up the opposition. For they are about be pitted against each other in ruthless mental combat, and the stakes couldn't be higher: whatever happens next, at least two of these young women are destined for a life-changing experience before the night is out! 

Despite the risk, several of tonight's contestants have used their free ticket allocation to bring friends along. Confident of victory, Felicity has invited along her college pals Lori and Clarissa to be in the audience tonight. She's brought them partly for moral support but also, she hopes, to witness her triumph. The regulations completely prohibit parents from attending - not that any of the players would have wanted that anyway! In particular, young Hazel is praying her mum and dad never find out about tonight's show - she hasn't even told them about failing her mid-terms yet.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you could all take your seats please?" the familiar voice of the show's glamorous host, Ursula, booms out from behind the curtain, making them all jump. The ladies had all assumed that Ursula would come round for a friendly chat before the show; but in fact, they are about to have their very first meeting right now, during recording! Nothing could be less conducive to settling their nerves. That, and the fact they're all wearing bikinis of course.

On the far side of the curtain, spotlights sweep around randomly. The excited babble of the crowd sounds incredibly close. All the girls' instincts are telling them to run screaming from the building, but it's much too late to back out now. Then the host's clear tones ring out again:

"It's time... for the Total Career Wipeout Show!" Ursula pauses while the crowd cheer.

"So, let's meet our first four brave contestants!" and the curtain flies up to the ceiling, spotlights homing in on the first girl on the right.

"Amanda, who's reading Classical Studies at Hull!" 

A curvaceous, buck-toothed girl blinks under the dazzling light, her bikini-clad bod brightly illuminated for scrutiny as the audience erupt in appreciation. Mercifully she only has to endure a brief moment under the spotlights before everyone's attention passes to the next girl in line:

"Felicity, who's studying Ethnic Relations at Manchester!" 

Red-haired Felicity manages an uncertain smile as all spotlights focus on her. Feeling rather exposed, she has her arms folded across her bust, suddenly conscious of her smallish boobs.

"Hazel, who's doing Music at Warwick!" 

There's a noticeably louder roar for Hazel, probably the prettiest girl on show tonight. Her wide doe eyes flash from side to side and she squirms uncomfortably, all too aware of the hundreds of hungry male eyes scrutinizing her petite body. It's a relief to her when the lights move on to the next contestant:

"And last but not least, Jasmine, who's reading Biology at Cardiff!"

The tallest girl in the line-up, blonde Jasmine appears much more confident then the others. She poses hands on hips, seemingly with no compunctions about displaying her well-toned figure in her favourite designer beachwear. Was it all bravado? They would soon find out!

"Wow, what a gorgeous line up - shame this isn't a beauty contest!" Ursula trills, "But the real question tonight is: who's top of the form, and who is finding university a challenge? So, without further ado, if you could take your positions please, ladies?"

Directly behind each of the girls is a stainless steel frame of unusual design. Steel beams with strategically placed pads for arms and legs make them resemble some sort of gym equipment, and as in rehearsals the girls all step backwards astride their respective frames. Their knees are now spread out to their sides, arms outstretched above their heads where their hands grip the top bar. The purpose of the frames becomes clear as two sets of chrome-steel manacles suddenly click shut around the ladies' wrists and ankles, and then a third set slides across to restrain their legs just above the knee. All four girls are now stuck in a highly compromising position, one that provides the viewers with an even clearer view of their scantily-clad bods! 


Total Career Wipeout Ch. 01



But that's just for starters. Below the chrome frames is a large pen divided into four stalls, one for each contestant. The outer walls are shielded from three sides, so no-one in the audience can see anything contained within, and for now the double doors on top remain closed too, preventing the contestants from seeing anything. 

"Ok, let's meet the four lovely lads who are hoping to be your lovers tonight!" Ursula beams, and the double doors to each stall swing open.

There are gasps from some of the women as they lay eyes on their partners for the first time. Felicity is shocked to find herself facing a bony, unshaven man of Middle-eastern appearance. At first glance he looks about seventy, but Felicity quickly realises he's much younger, his haggard features probably the result of years of backbreaking toil in some harsh region of the world. Like the others, he's clad in a barely-there G-string, in addition to a couple off heart monitor pads taped to his chest. She knows the latter are vitally important: they serve to alert everybody as soon as any man reaches his climax - at which point the game is over, and the player with the highest score is declared the winner. 

Looking down the row, Felicity can see that each girl has been allocated a partner of different ethnicity. Immediately to her right, dark-haired Amanda has been paired up with a stocky, thickset east European: to Felicity's eyes, the man's muscular build, ugly facial scar and broadly unsavoury looks all shout Eastern European gangster. Over on the far left, blonde Jasmine is suspended over a dark-skinned Asian youth. He's smiling broadly at the prospect of getting to grips with the biology student's nubile body, and a healthy bulge is already growing under his sole item of clothing. Meanwhile on Felicity's immediate left the youngest player, Hazel, looks white as a sheet, and it's obvious why: staring up from her stall, her prospective partner is a huge, muscular black man! From the green and white motif on his bulging G-string, Felicity guesses he's Nigerian; around six-feet five, he's incredibly stocky and muscular, his massive shoulders barely squeezing into the width of the stall. A greater contrast couldn't be imagined with the delicate china doll-like figure of Hazel. 

"Who the hell decides these pairings?" Felicity puzzles, "And why on earth have they given me someone so old?" None of the other men were anywhere near as ancient as hers. But if she thinks age might have diminished his potency, she couldn't be more wrong. In actual fact, this old devil has the kind of sperm count that fertility clinics dream about, and those wrinkly old balls are brimming over with the most spectacularly buzzing jizz, just waiting to be unleashed on some unlucky lady's sex. Right now though, there's no time to contemplate such things: whoever their partners are, it doesn't alter the basic fact that losing is something to be avoided at all costs!

"Well, I can certainly see the boys are ready to play their part!" the ever-bubbly host interjects; "So without further ado, if you'd like to take your positions, ladies? Girls on top, as usual!"

This is Ursula's little joke of course: the players have absolutely no choice in the matter. With a whir of motors, the frames slide forward until the women are positioned directly above their prospective partners, just short of actually sitting on their laps. Hovering astride her oldster's hips, Felicity notices the dirty bastard's joystick is already straining against his flimsy thong!

* * * *

"So, now everything's in place for the first bout!" Ursula says, shuffling a large stack of laminated cards; "I've got a fresh batch of randomly-selected questions here, ready to tease the girls' brains, while their male helpers are all set to tease their bodies if they're not careful!" That gets a chortle in appreciation from the crowd. "You all know the rules, so let's play - Total Career Wipeout!!" 

The audience cheer, a fanfare sounds, and the game is on. The host sidles over to the first girl in line, the buck-toothed Amanda. Ursula leans over to talk to her, in the process displaying an unnecessary amount of cleavage for the cameras:

"Amanda, welcome! Nice bikini you've got there, let's see if you can hang onto it!" The dark-haired girl blinks as a mike is shoved under her nose. Felicity wonders why they still need hand microphones - all the girls are fitted with head mikes anyway. She doesn't realise that the head mikes serve a more vital purpose: they're needed to capture every surprised gasp, muttered swearword, or grunt of satisfaction that escapes the girls' lips once the action gets underway. The program makers are determined not to miss out! 

"Your first question, Amanda, is on the subject of... film: Who directed the movie "2001- A Space Odyssey"?" 

"Oh - umm..." the classics student furrows her brow, willing an answer to come. In the background a large clock loudly ticks down the seconds - a regular prop specially designed to add to the tension. Every man in the audience is mentally crossing his fingers, praying she doesn't get it, their eyes all fixed on her shapely baps! To her left meanwhile, Felicity has to bite her lip to stop herself shouting out the answer - she knows this one immediately!

Luckily for Amanda, the right name pops into her head just before the time runs out: "Erm - oh! - Stanley Kubrick!" she shouts, her face lighting up, knowing she's got it right. 

"Yes, that's absolutely right!" the host responds, "You can breathe easy this time!" 

Ursula moves on to the second girl, the red-haired Felicity: "Felicity, good evening! Your first question is on the subject of... mythology!" 

"Oh crap!" thinks Felicity, "Why did it have to be that?" 

"Can you tell me, Felicity: in which country's mythology was the god Anubis was worshipped?" 

"Ok, stay calm," Felicity thinks, "Surely it can only be one of a few countries?" The seconds tick away like the chimes of doom as she wracks her brains for the answer. She knows she must take a chance:

"Egypt?" she offers, more in hope than expectation.

"That's correct, Felicity!" Ursula exclaims; then, masking her mouth with her hand in a blatantly obvious ruse, she whispers loudly: "Good guess!!"

Ursula moves on quickly to the third girl in line. Hazel is already looking rather unhappy about her situation, but can do nothing about it, securely shackled to her stainless steel frame.

"Hazel from Warwick, welcome to the show!" Ursula announces brightly. "Your first question is about... fashion! Which item of women's clothing, invented in 1946, is named after an island in the Pacific?"

"Pretty easy, surely?" Felicity thinks to herself. But amazingly, the dainty brunette looks confused, while the seconds tick away inexorably. Finally the clock's single hand winds down to zero and an off-key gong noise resonates around the studio; Hazel's time has expired - as will her top, in just a few moments!

"Oh no, Hazel - you're wearing one!!" Ursula looks awfully disappointed; "The answer was bikini!" and she bends forward to take a vague swipe at the girl's shoulder in mock annoyance. "Well, I hope you're not too attached to yours, Hazel, because you're about to lose a half of it! Yes, it's our first forfeit of the night - take 'em away, Zack!"

At her command, Zack, the unseen rigger who lurks backstage, flips a switch. From the steel frame, clips latch onto the strings of Hazel's bikini top, pulling the knots loose; then hidden wires yank the top away, hoisting it high among the lighting rigs before swooping down again to a box marked "cin-bin" on one side of the set. A rush of air and a sheet of flame from the receptacle announce the untimely demise of Hazel's favourite beachwear. 

"Whooo!" the audience cry, pantomime-style, as Hazel's perky A-cup breasts and highly suckable nipples are exposed for scrutiny. Whatever else happens tonight, this young lass will now spend the rest of the evening topless.

"Well, that's got the game underway! Hope you're not getting chilly there, Hazel?" Ursula teases. 

"Oh no, no I'm fine!" the girl answers good-naturedly, determined not to show her opponents any hint of weakness at this stage.

"Good sport!" replies the host, "...of course, if you do get cold, we'll easily be able to tell!!" The audience roar as the brunette's smile wavers slightly, her cheeks reddening under the glare of the studio lights while Ursula, satisfied, moves on to the next contestant.

"And lastly, the lovely Jasmine!" The athletic girl looks composed as the spotlights move back onto her "And your starting subject is: mathematics. What is one-hundred and forty-four divided by twelve??"

She shoots the answer right back: "Oh, that's twelve, Ursula."

"You're absolutely right!" declares the host. There's cheering from one corner of the audience: it sounds like the Cardiff student has brought along a fair gang of supporters tonight. 

"Well, that's the end of round one, but from now on the questions get just a little bit harder!" Ursula purrs, giving a sideways look at the recumbent men. "So, which of our plucky contestants will be dazzling us with their intellect, and who will be showing off... their other talents?" At this a mischievous smirk playing across her full lips; "We'll be finding out soon enough, right after this break!" 

Then the leggy host strides languidly back to her podium, her tight evening gown clinging to her ample behind that rolls seductively with her gait.

The commercial break acts as the starting gun for a frenzy of online betting over the fate of these four girls. Which of them will be the first to get stripped naked? Who will be first to be penetrated? An avalanche of feverish speculation is underway. But in truth, at this stage, nobody can predict the result: if Hazel carries on as she's begun, the whole thing could be over in minutes, with minimal embarrassment for the other players. On the other hand, the ordeal could be stretched over the whole hour's broadcast. It was anyone's guess. 

* * * *

With the ad break almost over, the crew are busy resuming their positions. Felicity is feeling much less confident now than she did at the start - the questions hadn't been too bad so far, but she knew they'd only get tougher as the game progressed. 

But at least Felicity is doing better than her topless neighbour, Hazel, who is of course horrified to have botched her very first question. For the Warwick student, failure is simply not an option - she needs to win this thing and get back to her studies as soon as possible; she's already fallen behind with her coursework while waiting to get on the damn show, and any further delay would be simply unacceptable! 

"And we're live in five, four, three ..." the floor manager cues. The audience are hushed as red warning lights blink on around the set; play is underway again

"And welcome back to Total Career Wipeout!" the host exclaims sunnily, "If you missed the start, only Hazel has slipped up so far - as you can probably tell!" Ursula looks sidelong at the unfortunate girl, her long lashes lowering towards Hazel's bare bosoms. 

"But there's still an awfully long way to go in this game... and somebody's definitely going all the way tonight!" She reinforces her last comment with a cheeky wink to camera, and all four students squirm uncomfortably at the laughter that greets it. Ursula is renowned for her line in crap jokes, and many previous contestants have found themselves the target for her undue mockery.

Ursula strolls over to the right of the line: "Amanda, your next question!" she beams, "Can you tell us, who is this famous singer?" 

The strains of a familiar song echo around the studio. It's the old classic "Je Ne Regrette Rien"; instantly recognisable to Hazel, the music student, though of course she stays tight-lipped. Amanda looks dumbfounded however, and when the singing abruptly stops she just shakes her head cluelessly. 

"Oh, Amanda," Ursula looks crestfallen, "Don't you know anything? I'll bet the audience know - anybody?" and she turns to face the crowd, palms raised. 

"Edith Piaf!" they chorus. Amanda still looks none the wiser!

"Of course!" Ursula bows in appreciation; "The legendary Edith Piaf, but never mind Amanda, now you get to show off your lovely bristols to the boys! Zack, take 'em away!"

The men's prayers have been answered. Before she can gather her wits, Amanda feels hidden wires tugging at her bikini string and next second she is left completely topless! She's barely recovered from the shock when the roar of the "cin-bin" confirms that her designer two-piece has just been transformed into a one-piece.

The entire studio gawps as Amanda's gravity-defying norks bounce free, a deep flush of embarrassment colouring the girl's cheeks and upper bosom while she hangs there, powerless to shield her body from so many goggling eyes.

Her partner seems impressed too. Amanda feels acutely uncomfortable as the Russian's lecherous gaze roams over her bountiful boobs, his yellowed teeth cracking into a smile. With his scarred features and powerful build, he looks like the sort of brute who would happily pin Amanda to the ground and rape every one of her holes in turn if they ever crossed paths in some dark alley. 

It's Felicity's turn next: "And your second round question is on... geography! What is the capital of Nepal?"

Once again Felicity is forced to hazard a guess, but this time she's not so lucky.

"Uh... Bangkok?" she asks.

"Oh no, that's not right, Felicity" Ursula commiserates, "You're going to kick yourself: the right answer was Kathmandu - yes, you remember it now?" The girl nods in agreement, looking resigned to her fate.

"But there's no second chances in this game; it's time to... take 'em away!"

Felicity receives even less warning than Amanda as her top is abruptly whipped away, suddenly leaving her completely naked from the waist up. Though a quite confident girl, she's always been self-conscious about her modest bosoms and now feels acutely aware of millions of viewers scrutinising them as they're broadcast nationwide. She imagines people comparing them unfavourably with those of her more well-endowed neighbours, especially the voluptuous Ursula, and secretly dreads that the host will make some cheeky comment. It certainly wouldn't be the first time she'd left some poor girl cringing in embarrassment! But instead, to Felicity's immense relief, Ursula moves briskly on to her next victim.

"Ok, Hazel," she says perkily, "Your subject is... sport! What three words make up the motto of the Olympic games?"

"Bloody typical," Hazel thinks, "I can answer everyone else's questions but not my own! Come on, I should know this." 

Still not completely sure, she waits until the very last moment before answering.

"I - I think it's "Faster, Further, Higher" Ursula?"

The host winces, "Oooh, not quite! It's actually "Faster, Higher, Stronger". Well, good thing you're not appearing in the Olympics, Hazel, because I'm afraid that bikini's on its way to the great beach volleyball game in the sky! Take 'em away, Zack!"

Clips grab hold of the strings of Hazel's bikini bottom, and also latch onto her opposite number's G-string. Unseen wires draw tight and then the two garments soar high into the air, following the same trajectory as the music student's top until they reach the cin-bin, where both are reduced to ashes. Unleashed from its confinement, the African's magnificent member rears up, producing a humorous tableau as all four students gasp in unison: his cock is a sight to behold, fully eight inches long and as thick as a cucumber. None of them have ever seen such a huge babymaker before! Hazel wonders how anyone could possibly expect her to handle such a beast. She doesn't know that her three competitors are all quietly hoping the pretty brunette will be forced to take on the challenge, just to see her try!

"My God!!" shrieks Ursula, eyes bulging as she too admires the view "What a beauty! It fair takes your breath away, doesn't it, Haze?" Then she bends closer to Hazel's ear, lowering her voice to a fake whisper: "Or maybe we'll save that for later...?" The audience snigger while Hazel burns with embarrassment. She's beginning to shape up as Ursula's favourite teasing target. 

Finally Ursula arrives back at Jasmine again. "Well Jasmine, let's see if somebody can get at least one question right this round! Your subject... ancient history. In ancient Greece, who abducted the legendary beauty Helen of Troy?"

The blonde looks wistfully to one side, biting her lower lip before answering: "Paris?"

"Yes that's correct!" Ursula chirps, then winks to the girl's Asian partner, "Bad luck there, Saamir, guess you'll just have to keep waiting and hoping!"

* * * * 

All too soon another round begins, and the host looks eager to get going; she seems positively gleeful that so many points are being dropped this early in the game:

"Ooooh, it's round three and the boys can hardly wait, can you boys?" she bubbles.

A ragged chorus of agreement comes back from the male volunteers, hidden from the audience's gaze in their wooden stalls. "Well, I promise not to keep you waiting too long, guys!" she says, looking askance at the row of supine men; "Let's hope you can get your hands on those lovely bods while they're still HOT!" 

Third place along, Hazel isn't listening. Her eyes are shut tight and she's taking a deep breaths to calm herself, while her bare bosoms rise and fall gently. She knows she can't afford to screw up again this round, otherwise... well, it just doesn't bear thinking about! But when Hazel opens her eyes again, she realises that her huge African partner is no longer looking at her. He's staring instead at her neighbour Jasmine, who has her eyes fixed on the man's impressive erection. As Hazel watches, the blonde looks him right in the face, then runs her tongue sensually around her parted lips. It's obvious what she's doing - the bitch is trying to improve her own odds by deliberately arousing Hazel's partner! If she hadn't been manacled firmly in place, Hazel could have slapped her! How could a classy girl like that stoop to such dirty tactics? 

But next second Jasmine is facing forwards again, and nobody else seems to have noticed what she's just done. Everyone is watching Ursula as she sidles up to Amanda, who's already had to endure several minutes with her wonderful jiggly jugs on public display. 

"Amanda, your question is on... space exploration! In 1969, what was the number of the Apollo mission that landed the first men on the moon?"

Once again, to Ursula's barely-concealed joy, the girl is left clueless. "Number seven?" she answers hopefully.

"Not quite, I'm afraid it was actually number eleven. Well Amanda, I'll bet you're dying to see what Viktor's got to offer? Well wonder no more, because unveiling time is here - let's give those crotches some air, Zack!"

The audience chatter in anticipation, then suddenly both Amanda and Viktor's thongs rocket toward the ceiling, before hurtling towards to the cin-bin. Now revealed, the Russian's cock is no less thuggish-looking than the rest of him, towering upwards from a forest of black hair with sprawling blue veins covering its fat stem, which has a distinct leftward kink halfway along. Even as Amanda watches, his menacing member gives a hideous twitch and she jumps, much to Ursula's amusement:

"Wow! Looks like he's ready when you are, eh Amanda?" the host chortles, playfully patting the younger woman's bare shoulder. But the student isn't laughing. Whatever it takes, she knows she must get her next question right and save herself from this bastard. 

It's Felicity's turn next. Slowly, Ursula draws another card.

"OK, your question is on... literature: the classics "Death of a Salesman" and "The Misfits" were penned by which famous American playwright?"




Total Career Wipeout Ch. 01



Felicity is nonplussed, her mouth hanging open dumbly, not even hazarding a guess as her time ticks away. Ursula, as usual, delights in pronouncing judgement:

"Oh Felicity, shame on you!" she sniggers cruelly, "You don't know world-renowned playwright Arthur Miller? Well I'm afraid it's another forfeit for you - time to lose those thongs!"

Hidden wires tug; knots unravel; and in the blink of an eye, their lower garments are whisked away, sailing through the air towards an appointment with the roaring flames of the cin-bin. Felicity will now spend the rest of the show completely bare-assed. As will her scrawny partner; his dick doesn't look any cleaner than the rest of him, and she feels sick at the thought of it touching any part of her body. And for some reason this man just can't seem to take his eyes off her gingery bush, reminding Felicity how grateful she is that the partition prevents anybody else from seeing anything below. She's totally unaware that no less than six concealed cameras are currently trained on her body from all angles, ogling every valley and hummock of her delectable nude form.

But that's nothing to awkward position that young Hazel finds herself in. Her partner's prick is so huge, the tip is already brushing against the music student's pubes while she hangs suspended above him - a foretaste of what she has to look forward to if she doesn't buck her ideas up!

"OK, Hazel, a chance to redeem yourself now;" Ursula states perkily, "Your question is on: geography. Which is the largest island in the Caribbean?" 

"Oh - Jamaica!" Hazel fires back immediately, sure she's got it right.

"I'm afraid not, Hazel, it's actually Cuba!" The host tilts her head in mock sympathy; then turns straight to the girl's partner, her gleaming smile instantly rematerializing: 

"Which means it's your lucky night, Osman! Because now you get to find out if that heavenly body feels as good as it looks - it's time to free those fumbling fingers! Let him loose, Zak!" 

The audience cheer and whistle their approval as the chrome manacles that have so far restrained the man's wrists retract back into the bench. Hazel stares in horror at the huge, dark, spade-like hands ascending towards her defenceless body. 

Her lovely jiggly tits keep him entertained for some time. Osman shows no reservations, grabbing and squeezing on her funbags as if it was his conjugal right while Hazel winces and grunts throughout the unrestrained pawing, knowing for sure that she'll have some interesting bruises tomorrow morning. But this is just the beginning of her ordeal. Before long, his hands are sliding down over her boyish hips. 

Before the show, concerned over the skimpy outfit she had to wear, Hazel had carefully waxed her bikini line. Now she has reason to regret her action: her minge is utterly exposed as the Nigerian's dusky digits scrabble at her fleshy folds, the beautifully symmetrical frill of her inner lips a sight to behold and then, while he continues his exploration, her clitoris pops out on full view. Hazel's mind is struggling to come to terms with the fact that this is a man she's only just met. "Thank Christ no-one can see below the screen!" she keeps thinking to herself, unaware of the hidden camera pointing directly at her besieged sex from just a couple of feet away. As his thumbs hook between her labia, yanking them wide apart, its lens peers into the inky blackness of her secret cavern, speculating over the juicy pleasures within.

Satisfied that Hazel has enjoyed sufficient humiliation for the moment, Ursula moves on to Jasmine. Once again she manages to field her question without breaking sweat and remains fully clothed. By now Felicity is beginning to get rather annoyed with her blonde opponent; she's a little too confident for her liking. She prays the Cardiff student will get a horrible question next round and lose her top, just to give her a taste of the degradation everyone else has suffered! But for now they can all take a breather while the show goes for a commercial break...

* * * *

As the crew prepare for round four, everyone knows the contest is fast approaching a critical point. There'll be no more interruptions before the end of the game now; events could snowball very rapidly at any moment. Three girls are just a couple of steps from receiving their comeuppance, and if that happens, both director and crew must be ready to react quickly, to focus on the lucky individual! 

Transmission resumes with Ursula now standing at the front of the stage, all four girls lined up behind her:

"Phew," she wipes her brow theatrically, "It's round four, and things are certainly hotting up! I wonder which of my lovely boys will be the first to dip his wick? It could even happen this round! So let's play!"

Ursula returns to stand beside Amanda: "Right then, your fourth round question is on: biology. Where in the human body would you find the coccyx?"

"Erm..." Amanda hesitates, trying to get her brain in gear, but the answer just won't come.

"Oh dear, I thought that was an easy one!" Ursula looks surprised as the time runs out, "I'll bet Viktor here knows where it is, don't you, Viktor?" she winks at the recumbent Russian; he nods and smiles, momentarily taking his hungry eyes off the classics student's supple young body. 

"Well, I guess we'd better release Viktor's hands so he can show you, Amanda!"

Suddenly the manacles across the man's wrists slide back. Amanda looks anxious as he takes hold of her hips: for the first time, she properly appreciates this man's surprising physical strength. His fingers smooth over her hips, reaching around to encompass her taut bottom. Shock registers on her face as one fat thumb presses between her bum cheeks. Brusquely it shoves its way into her hole, curling upwards to press forcefully against the roof of her rectum, before touching... the tip of her spine.

"Uuuuhhhngggghhh!"

Ursula is merciless: "Aha! There it is Amanda, just in the lower back - you'll remember next time, won't you? Well, I suppose I'd better leave you two to get to know each other better!" and she curtly turns her back on the humiliated Hull student, abandoning Amanda to her fate as the brute's marauding hands begin exploring her body in earnest.

The host moves on to Felicity, now flanked by on both sides by girls enduring a most intimate grabbing and groping. Ursula is pleased to see the Manchester student looking more anxious: a few nerves always added spice to the performance!

"Let's see how you do, Felicity..." she twinkles, slowly drawing a question card from her pack; "Your question is on... television. In which sitcom are the characters regularly seen in the Café Nervosa?"

At least half the audience know this one, but unfortunately it means nothing to the serious-minded young ethnic relations student. 

"Sex and the City?" she ventures, just before time runs out.

"Not as far as I know, Felicity!" Ursula chortles, "It was actually from Frasier! Oh dear, what are we going to do with you? Well, maybe Ishmael can help uncover your hidden talents, because it's time to unleash those roving hands! Ready, Ishmael?"

He doesn't need a second invitation - the minute the manacles slide back, a pair of eager hands are heading for Felicity's tempting tits. She gasps as he grabs hold, bony fingers digging into the soft, yielding breastflesh, kneading and stroking, a look of awe on his haggard face. She winces as his rough fingertips, calloused from a lifetime working some unforgiving soil, scrape across the sensitive buds of her nipples; the sensation is exquisite torture, sending thrills of perverted pleasure shooting along her nerve endings.

Then his hands are descending, traversing the soft swell of her stomach, drawn towards her steamy loins. Thumbs brush through her pussy hair; Felicity's lips tremble as the man's inquisitive fingers part her labia and delve inside, violating her most intimate of personal spaces. He mutters quietly while he toils, pushing ever deeper, prising, rubbing and stroking, seemingly intent on discovering how many digits he can cram into Felicity's juicy interior at once. Then he finds her clitoris. Soon she's grunting and biting her lip, desperately hoping no-one's has noticed the mini orgasm she's just had.

Satisfied that Felicity has received enough coverage, Ursula swaggers calmly over to Hazel, fixing her with a knowing look while running her long, red nails along the edge of the quiz cards. The host knows just how much trouble this young woman is in, how desperate she must be to avoid having her tight twat impaled on that towering edifice of a prick!

"Well now, Hazel! Better get this one right, or you'll be getting to know your new friend here a LOT better!" Ursula giggles mischievously, while the girl gulps audibly.

"Your question then: On a standard computer keyboard, which is the only vowel that's not on the top line?"

Hazel hesitates, trying to picture her computer at home, "Oh, it's, uhm..."

"Wrong," Ursula cuts her off, "I'm afraid the correct answer was A, not O, which means..."

"What!!" the girl looks horrified, "No, that's not what I meant - I meant A - I meant A!!" 

"I'm afraid we have to take your first answer, Hazel!" Ursula scolds, "Which means it's time to...?" and she turns to face the cameras, raising her arms theatrically as the audience chant in unison:

"Lower away!" 

Ursula's glittering smile couldn't be more of a contrast with the student's mortified expression as, to Hazel's left and right, motors hum into life, and slowly the metal frame swivels and shifts, commencing its downwards journey. The audience are all glued to the monitor screens, relishing the girl's shocked expression when her partner wraps one huge hand around the base of his ebony cock and takes aim.

For an instant Hazel's minge hovers just above Osman's monstrous organ; then his advancing column pushes against her tight slit, and her outer lips spread to envelop his unfeasibly broad crown. Despite their own precarious situations, the other girls can't help but stare goggle-eyed at their near neighbour - surely there's no way her slim body can possibly accommodate such a monster? But a moment later she's engulfed the whole of his cockhead and her downward journey continues. To Hazel it's like she's being impaled on a granite obelisk as her cunt lining stretches over his enormity like a second skin, like a living condom hugging every bump and ridge and throbbing vein of his magnificent manhood, until at last her weight rests on his body. She feels his dense, curly pubes are tickling her inner thighs; her aching pussy, utterly full, has achieved the impossible. 

Only Hazel's competitors can truly appreciate the awesome scene now presented as the dainty brunette sits straight-backed atop the powerfully-built Nigerian. His huge quadriceps, baked black under the harsh African sun, are straddled by her creamy-white thighs, her puppy fat squashing around his mighty hip bones. With both their lower bodies still firmly restrained, still Osman finds sufficient freedom of movement to stir his dick gently inside the girl's buttery loins; in doing so he scratches an itch Hazel didn't even know she had, chipping away at her will to resist. But although the African may have some room for manoeuvre, his music student partner definitely doesn't. Hazel now understands why Jasmine resorted to dirty tactics - right now she'd do exactly the same, pull any devious, selfish trick she could think of just to get out of this fix! Indeed, if she doesn't come up with something soon, she could easily be leaving here with her academic career well and truly torpedoed.

It's time to move on to the next contestant; but Ursula's keeping one eye on Hazel now, conscious that this situation could escalate at any moment!

"Ok - that's one satisfied customer at least!" Ursula announces; "Let's keep it moving: Jasmine, your subject is... the Bible: according to the Genesis story, what did God create on the fourth day?" 

The questions are getting trickier now, and even Jasmine is having to think hard before answering:

"The animals?" she eventually answers in a muted voice that sounds rather unconvinced.

"Oh, afraid not, it was the Sun, the Moon and the Stars. Never mind, it's about time the boys got a look at those luv-er-ly jubblies - Zack, take 'em away!"

Jasmine is forced to surrender her top, putting her best assets on public display: they are, of course, perfect. Even so, it's a relief to the others to find that there's actually something this girl doesn't know!

Another round is over, and by this stage it's becoming obvious to everyone who's going to walk off with the prize money. The other three players are just battling now to avoid picking up the "wooden spoon", and avoid being banged stupid in front of this whooping studio audience.

* * * *

As Ursula approaches Amanda at the start of round five, desperation is written all over the young woman's face. Her earlier confidence is beginning to crumble: she'd pictured herself sailing through this competition but now, for the first time, she is facing the very real possibility that her unwanted disciple could soon be paying tribute in her most sacred inner sanctum. 

"Oh, why the hell did I ever come on this stupid show?" she wonders, like so many contestants before her. But there's scant sympathy from her inquisitor Ursula, who just pulls out another question card. 

"Well, Amanda, still hanging in there? Remember, the stakes are high now, so try not to slip up at this stage - otherwise you might be slipping down onto something of Viktor's here!" The audience guffaw at another crass Ursula quip.

"And your subject is... mathematics!"

Amanda groans inside; maths was absolutely her weakest subject. Somehow they seemed to be finding all her weak spots tonight. 

"If you roll two dice, what is the probability of rolling a seven?"

"Right," Amanda thinks, "I can work this out: six plus one, five plus two or a four plus three makes..."

"One in twelve!" she shouts suddenly, looking surprised at the volume of her own voice.

"Oooh no, I'm afraid not, it's actually one in six! " the host corrects her, "And we all know what that means, don't we folks ...?" she turns to the audience, raising her arms again:

"Lower away!!" the audience respond on cue.

An evil grin spreads across the Russian's angular face and he takes aim with his left hand. Amanda can't conceal her distress as the great ramrod draws closer and closer to her descending crotch; soon his glans is brushing through her blonde pubes. She flinches as the tip finds its mark, nuzzling between the loose flaps of her sex, then gasps as his bell end disappears up into her slot. 

It's a tight, dry, uncomfortable fit and his broad gristle makes halting progress between her sensitive pussy walls, thick ridges and veins rubbing against tingling nerve endings. The classics student is sure this brute must be exploring parts of her body previously untouched by man; his colossal tool is constantly trying to bear left - a portent of the massive left turn her own budding career could soon take if she's not extremely careful!

Finally her lover's dark, wiry pubes crunch into her frothy blonde bush; his whole six kinked inches are now crammed within the confines of Amanda's sex: a loaded weapon pointed straight at her womb. His wide-splayed fingers encompass her pert, creamy buttocks, thumbs aligned along the hip bones, and Amanda realises that this complete stranger now quite literally holds her entire future in his hands. In all likelihood, the next twenty years of her life will be decided by what this man chooses to do in the next two minutes of his.

Meanwhile, young Felicity's attention is so focussed on her neighbours' troubles, she doesn't even realise the compere has moved up behind her until a microphone is rudely shoved under her nose.

"Well, Felicity, let's see if you can do any better!"

The girl takes a deep breath, trying to clear her mind ready to tackle the imminent challenge; she knows she mustn't mess up again.

"Here it is: how many months of the year have more than seven letters in their names?" 

It's a stinker of a question! One camera zooms in for a close-up of Felicity's face, inviting the viewers to share in her uncertainty and anguish as her brain races to solve the problem. She's permitted no hiding place, every twitch of her facial muscles magnified for all to see while the ten-second countdown ticks remorselessly away in the background.

Just before her time expires, Felicity blurts out: "Uh, five - no four!"

"Oh! I'm sorry Felicity, four was right but I have to take your first answer! And that means that, once again, it's time to:"

"Lower away!" comes the chant.

Felicity looks down, and a slow-motion horror movie plays out beneath her. Her partner licks his lips as, inch by inch, she's lowered towards his quivering pole. Felicity shudders to think when he last washed that damn thing; she could well believe that her minge is about to provide its first decent clean in months! 

His bulb meets her crotch bang on target, prodding against her mound at first before nudging apart the plump lips to ease inside. Felicity has spent the past year immersing herself in the subject of race relations but now, it seems, the tables are about to be turned! She tries tightening her pelvic muscles to thwart him, but his rock-hard babymaker just squeezes between, making her wince. 

Soon Felicity's sitting squarely on his lap, his whole length firmly lodged up her. She manages to wrench her disgusted gaze from the junction of their sex organs and look the man in the eye: he appears perfectly calm, a slight smile playing around the corners of his mouth while he relishes the feel of the tight, firm young body around him. Without warning, his erection suddenly gives a violent twitch between her walls; Felicity immediately shoots back a furious look that says: "Don't you dare!" 

She can't possibly say anything out loud, of course: how would that look, an ethnic relations student complaining about being paired up with an immigrant! Felicity has always been proud of her commitment to bridging the racial divide. But soon she could be taking the ultimate step in the struggle for racial equality - by taking a foreigner's steaming spunk deep inside her unprotected sex! And like so many idealists before her, Felicity is discovering her feelings to be very different when it's her own arse on the line.

Thus Hazel, Amanda and Felicity all find themselves in identical peril, only too aware that just one false move could be enough to trigger their partner's climax and propelling a sticky load of baby-paste up their unprotected twats.

Of the trio, Hazel's situation is the most precarious. By the time Ursula returns to her stall, it's clear the music student is no longer in command of her senses: for the last few minutes, her Nigerian lover has been making good use of his limited pelvic mobility to rotate his broad gristle inside her overstrained passage. Hazel is unable to keep her composure in the face of such overwhelming sensation; flopped in her shackles she pants steadily, although through half-lidded eyes she does seem to acknowledge the host's presence - and that's good enough for Ursula.

"Hazel! Your next question is on: history. What was the name of the American pilot who first broke the sound barrier in October 1947? 

Hazel starts to speak; but whether she's actually trying to answer the question - or is even aware of events around her - is unclear.

"Uuh," her lips tremble with the effort, "Urrrgggh - Jesus Christ! - OH!"

"Er... no, I'm afraid that's not the right answer Hazel, it was actually Chuck Yeager. So that means another forfeit - and you'd better be ready for some funky moves, because we're going to set Osman loose!"




Total Career Wipeout Ch. 02



All characters involved in the following story are over eighteen. Please note that this is a work of fiction set in the near future, is not based on any real persons or TV shows, and certainly not intended to excuse acts of non-consensual sex under any circumstances. Do not read on if you are likely to be offended by explicit material, black humour or bad puns! 

(from News Nightly, 20th September:)

One year ago we interviewed Tammy Shoeburn, spokeswoman for "Studies Not Studs", a protest group which seeks to highlight the problems facing today's generation of university students, in particular the role played by the controversial gameshow "Total Career Wipeout". Tammy revisited to our offices this week to bring the story up to date, accompanied by fellow campaigner Sharon Glattimmer. 

(NN): "So Tammy, why have you come to talk to us again today?"

(Tammy): "Well, firstly I want to set the record straight. After our last interview, the media seemed intent on labelling "Studies Not Studs" as some sort of feminist organisation purely concerned with the plight of female students. I'd just like to make it clear, we're well aware the boys are facing an equally tough time and we're doing all we can to help them too."

(NN): "I hate to say it, but so far it seems as if all your campaigning hasn't improved the basic situation for women students?"

(Tammy): "Hey, we are fighting against the tide here. These days undergraduates have a constant struggle to scrape together enough cash to cover their tuition fees, and the results are plain to see if you visit the venues where they work in the evenings. At the lap-dancing clubs, for example, the competition for tips has become shockingly aggressive - it's no exaggeration to say the girls are thrusting their crotches in the punters' faces the minute they step through the door! Virtually every night of the week, these ladies are pushing their bodies just as hard as they're pushing their brains during the day. In fact you could say that today, the girls are outstripping the guys - academically and literally!"

(NN): "So, if you're still struggling to make a difference to female students' circumstances, how do you now expect to help the guys?"

(Tammy): "Look, there's a lot of support we offer. For example, we provide counselling for young men who need it. In common with most of their female colleagues, these guys are often working as strippers in Chippendale-type clubs in order to pay their fees. But at that age, they're often mentally unprepared for what they encounter: having to strip to your skin in front of a horde of baying, lust-crazed women is actually quite intimidating for a lad of just 19 or 20 years old!"

(NN): "I can imagine! So perhaps you could tell us about a case where your counselling has been effective?"

(Tammy): "Oh, I'm afraid all our sessions are strictly confidential, sorry."

(NN): "But surely you can recount just one instance where you've made a real difference to a student's life?"

(Tammy): "Well... er... Sharon, how about the first time you visited our offices? That was a resounding success, as I recall - and there's no problem with confidentiality, since you weren't actually a member of staff at the time..." 

(Sharon): "Seriously? But - but that wasn't really a formal session, I thought -"

(Tammy): "Oh, don't worry, it'll be fine as long as we don't use real names!" Tammy waved her away her colleague's misgivings and turned back to me: "Anyway, the case concerned an 18-year-old student - I'll call him Sam - who'd recently started work at the strip venue "Dreemstudz". He was a good-looking young man and had already proved a hit with the office workers and hen parties who frequented the club.

"Then one night, things got out of hand. The place had been hired for a charity fundraiser, so the regular doormen weren't on duty. During Sam's act, two drunken lasses got up on stage; a more experienced performer might have handled the situation better but, before Sam knew what was happening, they'd grabbed him and yanked down his G-string. Not wanting to start a riot, he just stood there while both ladies fell to their knees, seized him by the hips and took turns performing fellatio. Despite his best efforts it all proved too much and, with the crowd screaming encouragement, he shot his entire load down one customer's gasping throat!

"After that, Sam's confidence around women was shattered. The fact that literally hundreds of leering ladies had witnessed his loss of control with two strangers had left him very perturbed. In desperation, he came to us and related his sorry tale, describing the vivid flashbacks he'd suffered since that night, how the experience had prevented him from going back to work at the club and even resulted in a break-up with his girlfriend, when she found out!

"And so we came up with a plan: one of our team would infiltrate the charity group to discover the identities of the two ladies involved, and then contrive for them to visit our offices, where Sam would be waiting. Thus we were able to bring the perpetrators - Sharon here, and her friend Jacqui - face to face with their victim in the hope that everyone could come to terms with what had happened."

(NN): "Sounds like a risky strategy!"

(Tammy): "Yes, but I was convinced it was the only way forward; and as it turned out, Jacqui and Sharon were very keen to help as soon as they saw Sam's predicament."

(Sharon): "Well, it was actually kind of embarrassing! The truth is, we'd both had a few drinks that night and neither of us could recall events too clearly; it was only when Jacqui laid eyes on Sam again that she remembered exactly what we'd done to him!"

(Tammy): "Yeah, the atmosphere was rather awkward at first. But then, out of the blue, Sharon came up with a winning idea: since they'd both already seen Sam naked, she proposed the rest of us should take our clothes off too, to "get everyone on the same level" as she put it. It was a stroke of genius - though I wasn't too keen on participating myself! So as Jacqui began plucking at the buttons of her blouse, I retreated to my office next door to let the three of them continue their discussion in private." 

(NN): "So Sharon, how did the meeting go?"

(Sharon): "Gosh, I really didn't think we were going to discuss this today! Well, I thought it went very well... I do think getting everybody naked was an important initial step, to remove the barriers between us, although I guess it came as something of a surprise to Sam - normally, that's his job! 

"From my nurse's training I knew a little about counselling, and realised this was no time for half-measures. I declared that nobody was leaving that room until we'd achieved a satisfactory outcome; I think Sam understood then that he was in for the long haul. It was a struggle - I mean, you're always up against a big obstacle when you try and get guys to talk about their feelings - but I knew that to help Sam I'd have to be completely open with him and take him fully into my confidence. Of course, it wasn't long before Jacqui insisted I should "hand over the baton" to her, because she wanted to take him fully into her confidence as well."

(Tammy): "I have to confess I was a bit concerned by the raised voices coming from the conference room; it sounded like you guys clashed rather badly to begin with?"

(Sharon): "Oh, that was our fault, I'm afraid! It was only when Jacqui and I properly engaged with Sam that we fully appreciated the size of his problem, and its sensitivity. That was a real eye-opener for us; but we soon learned to relax around him." 

(NN): "So it was all a matter of trust, then?"

(Sharon): "Er - yeah, we showed Sam that if he would trust in me and Jacqui, we would trust back in equal measure. Mutual trusting was really important."

(NN): "And once you'd raised his self-esteem, did everything else follow naturally?"

(Sharon): "You make it sound easy - it wasn't! Even after his heart-to-heart with Jacqui, it was obvious Sam hadn't achieved the breakthrough he needed so badly. I realised us girls would have to take charge, and I decided on an intense, three-way counselling session, with Jacqui and me simultaneously pushing Sam harder and further until he reached some kind of epiphany. This time, I told him, I didn't want to see him holding back at all: he needed to let go of everything he'd got bottled up inside.

"So I got Sam to lie back on the couch, and then we set to work. I knew Sam needed a deeper insight into a woman's sensual side, and I told Jacqui she'd just have to confront him head-on with her own raw sexuality. Luckily, she understood exactly what I meant! Her "in-your-face" approach caught Sam by surprise - in fact he could barely get a word out - but Jacqui pressed on with her agenda, determined to show him that a woman's libido was something to be explored rather than feared.

"While Jacqui got his head sorted out, I concentrated on the root of his recent problems. Between us we piled on the pressure, urging and cajoling him on; it was a lot for Sam to take on board, but there was no way me and Jacqui were going to ease off at that stage. We were so close, I couldn't just let him slip out of my grasp!

"Finally Sam achieved the breakthrough we'd all been striving for; we both hugged him tightly then, wanting to share in that magical moment. As I held him, I could feel all that pent-up tension just pouring out, and Jacqui said that when he cried out she felt it strike right at her core."

(Tammy): "Yes, I think everyone in the building heard that one! But I'm puzzled: it sounded almost as if you ladies had epiphanies too, right before Sam did...?"

(Sharon): "Well, actually," Sharon blushed, "We just faked our epiphanies to give him encouragement!"

(NN): "Wow, that sounds like a really intense therapy session!"

(Sharon): "You're not kidding! Towards the end we were all emotionally exhausted. Sam described our encounter as "draining". But he's a much more confident young man today, and I feel very proud to have played a part in that transformation. And for me personally, it was such a great learning experience - young Sam forced me to stretch myself in ways I'd never imagined!"

(Tammy): "And after a five-star performance like that, what could I do but offer Sharon a job? She's now one of our trained volunteers, handling all the male sexual dysfunction cases at college! These days when a new visitor arrives on our doorstep, Sharon's smiling face will usually be the first thing he sees, ready and waiting for him to unload his troubles onto."

(Sharon): "Hmm, I was unsure about it at first; but when Tammy showed me the state these young men were in, I just couldn't turn my back on them. Although it's meant giving up my old job, my work here is far more satisfying. It's a wonderful moment when you finally achieve a breakthrough with a client."

(Tammy): "Yes, I think the thing about Sharon that really impresses the clients is the depth of her commitment. From day one, she's taken on some really hard cases, but somehow she always finds room in her schedule to accommodate them, no matter how tight things get. Any hour of the day, I can be sure Sharon will be hard at it in her office, busting her ass to keep on top of her workload. I've even known her to counsel two clients at once: frankly, I don't know how she does it!"

(Sharon): "Well, it's never easy - even now, I still have to phone up Jacqui sometimes for a helping hand!" 

* * * *

(NN): "So, there are clearly many students out there with reason to be grateful to the dedicated staff of SNS. But Tammy, I'd like to return to your old bête noir, the gameshow "Total Career Wipeout". As you predicted, TCW recently ended its final run with no more series planned. So why exactly is SNS still pursuing them?"

(Tammy): "Because there are still a lot of questions that need answering. Firstly, we'd like to know what happened to all the secret recordings. Whether they're aware of it or not, every contestant who appeared on the show was filmed by hidden cameras and that footage is still out there somewhere. Until it's all found and destroyed, there'll be no closure to this sorry tale."

(NN): "It certainly wouldn't be the first time people have done outrageous things only for the photographic evidence to surface later. But the production company always argue that what they recorded was little different from the wild antics that students get up to behind closed doors anyway."

(Tammy): "C'mon, there's a big difference between having fun in private and seeing it broadcast across the entire country! Let's face it, the TCW show was just a tacky display, laid on for the punters; why else did Ursula always give a detailed description of every bloke's erection? You'd have thought the expressions on the ladies' faces as their vaginas were stretched to their limits told the viewers all they needed to know! 

"And for many people the ordeal still isn't over - take Tina Bowmastle for example, who competed over a year ago. The video of her wild ride is still an internet sensation today, galloping headlong towards her climax with her boobs jiggling like crazy, all her protests completely ignored as she's pounded from below by an unseen stranger. I expect that footage will dog poor Tina for the rest of her days."

(NN): "Yes, I noticed they re-showed her performance recently in roundup of "Top-40 Embarrassing TV Moments". But despite all the controversy, you must agree the show did provide a boost for the winners?"

(Tammy): "Not always the kind of boost they were expecting. It's been widely reported how contestants and male volunteers all reconvened at after-show parties, where the winners were routinely plied with free drinks. Those parties could get pretty wild, with students often becoming completely insensible on free booze - a mistake they later regretted. One girl described to me how she woke up the following morning, butt-naked in a hotel room with one massive, throbbing headache and three massive, throbbing black men! When she asked them what the hell had happened, they proved only too happy to help remind her, going to great lengths to help jog her memory until it all came flooding back to her. When she finally staggered out of the room two hours later, she told me, she felt so sore and bruised she actually wished she'd lost the damn contest! Of course, she got pregnant; it seems that even the winners are expected to do their bit for the good of the nation."

(NN): "Well Tammy, you've given us plenty to think about, and even though TCW has apparently been consigned to the archives, I'm sure the debate will carry on for some time. 

"But to round off, I'd just like to ask about your personal experience of appearing on the show. You've repeatedly stated what a terrible ordeal it was; however a number of TV pundits have commented that you actually appeared to be rather enjoying yourself. Is there any truth in this at all?" 

(Tammy): "It's not the first time I've heard that ridiculous accusation, and it just goes to show how easily people's perceptions can become distorted. Those critics are in denial over the awful harm television can do. They only see what they want to see: in this case, that all us girls are "in on the joke" and having a great time bouncing up and down on a bunch of strangers' cocks. Can you imagine?"

(NN): "So there's no truth in the rumour that you actually resisted the stagehands' attempts to free you at the end of the game?"

(Tammy): "Oh that's total bullshit! I was fighting desperately to escape, and when the stagehands were letting me out, some people thought I was fighting with them too! I wish I could get all those oh-so-righteous TV journalists and "media experts" to sit down and watch the whole episode again, so I could point out what's really going on at each stage of the contest. I'd soon put them straight on a few things."

(NN): "Well Tammy, it seems your wish is granted: just this morning, the company announced the release of the full, unedited version of Series One on DVD! I happen to have a copy here. It's promoted as containing: "Every thrust, grunt and gasp in striking hi-definition" and promises us previously unseen hidden camera footage from over one hundred sexual encounters."

(Tammy): "Whu - what are you talking about? You're wrong, you - they'd never release that! It's got to be faked!!"

(NN): "'Well, I have to say it looks genuine enough; let's play it and see if we recognise anybody..."

I popped the disc into one of several players in my office. Tammy looked utterly dumbfounded still, her mouth opening and closing but no words coming forth. I flipped forward to "Bout One - Final Round". On the plasma screen a picture flicked up showing the game in full flow; at this point, three of the four players were already firmly impaled on their partners' pistoning cocks, while the groans and gasps of desperate copulation from both males and females suddenly filled the meeting room. Tammy and Sharon were both stunned into silence.

"What's really impressive about this DVD is the new player-tracker feature," I continued, "Here, let me demonstrate -" A menu popped up in the corner of the screen, showing options "Player1 - Player 4"; I chose Player 3. 

The image instantly switched to a hi-def close-up of conjoined sex organs engaged in vigorous intercourse. A hairy pussy squished hungrily around the base of a caramel-coloured cock, the woman's pelvis alternating between energetic pumping and small, rapid circular movements. Tammy and Sharon watched mesmerised as the camera gradually drew back, revealing first the lower body of an Asian man, straddled by a Caucasian woman's hips; then the woman's sweaty torso came into view, pert breasts bouncing away, then her slim shoulders and finally... Tammy's face!! Perspiration dripped from her angular nose and chin, only to be lost in her partner's prolific chest hair, and her lips moved unceasingly, though whatever she was muttering was drowned out by the moans and groans from her similarly engaged neighbours. The present-day Tammy looked mortified, while her loyal employee Sharon seemed to be desperately trying not to smirk. 

Then Tammy's face turned dark with anger: "This is disgusting!" she spat, "How can they sell film of me being humiliated? I'm being forced to have sex against my will, and they've just turned it into cheap entertainment!"

I pointed out it wasn't all that cheap at £18.99, but Tammy didn't want to hear it. "Give me that remote!" she yelled, reaching for the DVD controls. But before she could snatch them from me a comment from her co-worker Sharon stopped her in her tracks:

"Actually Tam, from the look of things, you seem to be doing most of the work in that relationship. What's that you're saying to the guy there...?"

"Whu? I - I don't know!" Tammy rounded on her colleague, her face dark with anger, "For fuck's sake Sharon, just shut up!" 

Her outburst silenced the blonde, and I took the opportunity to jump in: 

"Ah, you've just reminded me Sharon, we can easily find out what Tammy was saying. The player-tracker allows us to isolate a head mike, so if I just go to this menu here..."

Suddenly Tammy's breathy mumblings were amplified to full volume on the surround sound speakers:

"Ooooh you gorgeous bastard... don't you dare come until I say so... oh my God, your prick feels so fucking good! Quick, get your thumb up my arse again... now rub my clitty... no, HARDER... yeah, that's more like it - nnnggggghhhhhh!!

There it was, the damning evidence! And this was no fake; the running commentary was in perfect synch with Tammy's lip movements on-screen. In the office meanwhile, Tammy had her palms clapped to the sides of her face, looking absolutely devastated, her mind groping helplessly for something to say in her defence.




Total Career Wipeout Ch. 02



"AHAHAHA!" Sharon's raucous burst of laughter filled the room. "My God Tammy, you absolute slut!! I didn't know you had it in you!" she guffawed, while her boss still struggled for words.

"I said shut UP, Sharon," Tammy snarled, real venom in her voice this time, before turning her rage back towards me: "This is a disgrace! How can you buy this filth, you total dirtbag? I want to know everything that's on that disk, everything, d'you understand?"

"I'll be very happy to show you, Tammy - for example, we can get split-screen camera views:"

I flipped through some menus; a full-frontal of Tammy's naked body still filled the left half of the screen, but now the right half showed a view of her from the rear. Both images were in perfect synch, her stream of filthy talk still echoing around the office. The present-day Tammy was left speechless once again, trembling with a mixture of rage and humiliation as I selected for "Extreme Close-up, Lower Body". 

From the front, the rhythmic movements of her tummy now mimicked those of an expert belly-dancer, coaxing and massaging the cock embedded in her loins, while from behind, her gluteus maximus directed more power into the equation, clenching and unclenching her buttocks for maximum effect. Indeed, her lover was barely moving now as Tammy took complete control of proceedings.

Sharon couldn't help herself: "Fuck me Tam, that's textbook cock-milking technique! I guess all those Pilates lessons really paid off, eh??"

"Sharon -!" Tammy looked like she might explode any second.

"I'm serious Tam, you could make some serious money, that's a solid gold cunt you're sitting on there, any porno director would-"

"Jesus Christ, Sharon, you are so fucking SACKED!!" Tam yelled at her ex-employee, "Don't you realise what this shit is going to do to my career?" Then she turned her furious gaze back to me: "I'm going to have all those disks destroyed, starting with that one!!" 

She lunged for the DVD player but I was just ahead of her and snatched it from the desk top. With all the cables still attached I could only back up so far, and Tammy stood confronting me hands on hips. But I had one final card to play:

"Just a second, Tammy, I think there's one more bit you should see:" 

Unable to hold her curiosity, Tammy looked over her shoulder. I'd set it so the whole female line-up was on the right half of the screen, with a full-frontal naked Tammy still on the left. Suddenly, flashing lights and klaxons blared across the stage; one of the other women began sobbing in dismay and denial as her pussy was inundated with copious jets of career-ending cum. The on-screen Tammy also looked alarmed, though I knew her reasons were quite different, as the soundtrack confirmed:

"Quickly, we haven't much time, do it in me!" she growled at her lover. Her body movements - restricted though they were - were going into overdrive now. But the stagehands were already rushing on set. All too soon, they were grabbing at Tammy's restraints, releasing her from her bonds. The first thing she did with her freed hands was to seize her partner's hips, applying all her strength now to bounce even harder on his manhood. 

Realising the girl wasn't thinking straight, her rescuers took a firm grip of her arms. "Grrrrrnoooooh!" her desperate voice cut through the mêlée as they hauled her off her Asian lover. But I'd already seen was coming next, and surreptitiously depressed the super slo-mo button...

The Asian youth's cock slipped into view; smooth and long and thick, it was amazing to contemplate that Tammy had just accommodated this whole thing inside her body. And ironically, she'd almost done enough: just as his dick slid free of her clenching hole, he finally let fly. In super-slow motion, a great glistening stream of cum ascended slowly through the space until recently occupied by Tammy's lusty body. Her prize denied, Tammy's eyes burned with thwarted desire, and from her frantic struggles it was abundantly clear that her only thought was to plant herself back on top of her lover's spurting organ. Even as she was dragged off stage, her eyes never left that twitching member.

Back in our offices meanwhile,, the look of horror on Tammy's face said just one thing: I am going to be a laughing stock. Behind her, Sharon was biting her fist, tears rolling down her cheeks as she tried desperately not to laugh out loud. Turning back to face me, Tammy snatched the player from my hands and ejected the disk. No matter, I'd shown her all I wanted to. The look of outrage was still her face, though perhaps her voice sounded a little less self-assured now: 

"Don't you dare print a word of this interview, you bastard!" she hissed, waving the disk in my face, "I know you're in bed with the TCW lot over this! Well you'd better get yourselves some good lawyers, because there'll be a writ on your desk next week from every one of these girls I can track down! See you in court, scumbag!" 

With that my interviewee stormed out and that was the end of our meeting. But though our discussion was over, there were still many stories left to be played out...

* * * *

Six months after "Total Career Wipeout" vanished from our screens, no new series are planned for UK television. However, many foreign media companies have expressed interest in franchising their own versions of the show, and there are also whispers that a touring live stage version is in the pipeline.

Shortly after our interview with Tammy, the protest group "Studies Not Studs" ceased operating due to staffing difficulties. A re-launch has been mooted on several occasions, but nothing has come if it yet. Sharon Glattimer had of course received a peremptory sacking prior to that, but fortunately she was able to return to her previous occupation as a ward nurse.

Following the dissolution of SNS, Tammy Shoeburn attempted to re-establish her political career. However, after the TCW release became an international hit, the wide-reaching publicity surrounding her performance transformed her into a minor celebrity, and she struggled to maintain her credibility. After reeling from one disastrous job interview to the next, out of desperation she belatedly decided to follow Sharon's impudent advice and took up an offer to appear in a sex education film. Increasingly lucrative offers followed and Tammy soon became a regular performer in the skin flick industry, featuring in some very highly-rated movies. Today she is one of the hardest-working actresses in the business with a constantly expanding portfolio. Thus, far from being a total career wipe-out, Tammy's own fifteen minutes of fame has propelled her into a new and highly lucrative line of work!

Recently we managed to track Tammy down on the set of her latest erotic masterpiece. We were keen to know how she feels today (apart from sore, obviously!) and to see if she had any final thoughts on the "Total Career Wipeout" controversy. Interviewed between takes, she told us:

"My real concern is that, with nobody to keep an eye on those TV producers, they'll be completely free to indulge their warped imaginations. The latest rumour is that they plan to bring back TCW as a live action stage show, intended to play nightly at venues in every major city. They say it will be even more outrageous than before, if you can believe that! To ensure support, education regs are being changed yet again, making it compulsory for any female undergraduate who fails her mid-terms to take part if requested. It sounds like a total nightmare, and the fact that it's all done in the name of entertainment just makes it all the more appalling - how can people watch this sort of thing and not become desensitised? I genuinely fear that, if we carry on down this road, we could soon be witnessing the irreversible moral and ethical decline of our once-great society. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to finish pissing in this guy's mouth - hey Baz, did you want the cheek retractors in or out for this scene??"

And what of Felicity, the ethnic relations student who found herself getting more deeply involved in her subject than she intended? Well, against all the odds Felicity turned out to be one of the lucky ones - nothing came of her illicit liaison and, with the help of friends and relatives, she was able to resume her college course. We met her one last time to get her views on the whole TCW affair. She said:

"The experience of going on the "Total Career Wipeout" show has definitely changed my outlook on things. It's forced me to buck my ideas up, and I finally realise that student life is not supposed to be an easy ride. I now appreciate how fine the line is between success and failure, and I think it shows in my test scores.

"Frankly, I've very little sympathy for people who don't make the effort. If anything, that TV show was too damn easy on them: if I was in charge, I'd just get all those failing students to line up and touch their toes, then let the men loose to bang 'em stupid until only two were left standing. Then those last two could get down on their knees and compete head-to-head with all the remaining guys, until finally the one who swallowed the most would get her fees paid! Hmmm... now there's an idea for a show!"

Definitely one for the future!

THE END.