****** Next Year's Reality TV ******
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Synopsis: Contestants are publicly tortured to win money
Next Year’s Reality TV

by Abe

Monday:

"Now, from the beautiful St. Rastus Resort,
America's newest reality game show, You
Bet Your Butt!  I'm Mark Stark, your host,
for a show that's got lots of T and A."  Mark
grinned as the audience reacted. "That's
tension and anticipation, folks.  Tonight,
five beautiful contestants, chosen from
among more than 600 applicants, will vie
for prizes totaling more than one million
dollars!  Let's bring out our contestants."

Five young women, identically dressed,
pranced out onto the stage and stood in a
line at attention, some wobbly on their very
high heels.  The audience went wild.
"Quiet down, please, while I introduce the
girls.  You don't mind if I call you girls, do
you?"  They all grinned.  He held the
microphone in front of a young Asian‑
American woman.  "This is Lili.  Tell us
about yourself, Lili."

"Well, Mark, to begin with, my name is
pronounced Lee‑lee, not Lilly.  I'm 20 years
old, and an engineering major at Stanford
University."

"What are your measurements?"

"I'm 5 feet two, 34‑24‑35.  Of  course,  prefer
metric measurements."  The camera
zoomed in on her sleeveless knit shirt, cut
off above the navel.  In large red letters over
her tits, it  read, BOOBS Bar‑B‑Q.

"And what will you do with the money you
win?"

"I plan to start my own research and

development laboratory."

"Next in height, is our very beautiful Carla.
Tell us about yourself, Carla."  The camera
revealed a grinning blonde with dark roots
and a magnificent rack which stretched the
fabric and magnified  the BOOBS lettering
but  left the Bar‑B‑Q in shadow.

"I'm five‑four, 42‑26‑36.  I'm 19, and I'm an
aspiring actress"

"What will you do with your winnings?"

"Move to Hollywood and hire the best agent
I can find."

There followed  Vera, a 26 year old aerobics
instructor, who would establish a college
fund for her  little boy, who is living with
his grandmother.   Marjo, 19, a statuesque
woman of color , was majoring in business.
Last was Bree, a stunning redhead, 5‑10,
36‑24‑36, an aspiring model.

"Now, this show is unscripted and
unrehearsed.  The contestants don't know
what they will be asked to do, but they
always have the option of shouting, 'stop,'
and leaving the game immediately.  Just for
appearing on this stage, each has received
$10,000.  At the end of the show, each
remaining contestant will receive $50,000
and be invited  to appear on the next show.
The game goes on until there is only one
contestant left, our grand winner.  In
addition, there may be contests between
the girls for additional prizes to the winner,
but the losers will still be in the game.
Alright, girls, are you ready?"  They all
grinned.  "Shoes off."  The five females
kicked off their high heels.  "Shirts off.   But
first, this message."

Since the show wasn't really live, there was

no break in the action.  It may have been
unscripted, but the girls knew what to do.
Lili peeled off her BOOBS advertisement
and stood there, smiling, with her perky
little A‑cups standing forth, tiny pink
pasties covering the areolae.  Carla peeled
off her shirt.  The audience applauded. 
"My God," said Mark, "are those real?"

"You bet!"

Vera displayed handsome C‑cups and
rippling abs.  Marjo stood tall, her pasties
darker than her sepia skin, accurately
matching the pigment of her nipples and
areolae.  Bree, the redhead, displayed a
creamy white complexion, breasts like
vanilla ice cream scoops, and perky pink
pasties that almost glowed in contrast.

"In a moment, our contestants will show
you more."  There would be another
commercial inserted. "Let's start with Bree.
Bree, skirt off."  There was a tight shot of
Bree unwrapping her red mini.  The
audience again applauded, as she stood
there in nothing but pasties and a tiny
thong, the total area of the fabric about the
same as her tongue, and it was a close
match to her skin color.  To anyone in the
audience beyond the third row, she might
appear to be totally nude.  Unfortunately, a
fringe of coppery curls marked the edges of
the otherwise inconspicuous patch of cloth
which snuggled over her vulva in the
classic "camel toes" manner.  "Cut!" yelled
Mark, and Bree was hustled off the stage, to
appear minutes later with no visible pubic
hair.  They started over again.  "Bree, skirt
off."  Applause.

The other girls had followed their
instructions about removing their pubic
hair, and, with their clinging, skin‑tone,
coverings, they looked naked.  When   the

audience finally quieted down, Mark said,
"OK, girls, turn around and touch your
toes."  Five girls, ten buttocks,
pandemonium in the audience.

"OK, girls, back to your places.  You
sophisticates in the audience have
probably heard of shows in other countries
where the female performer pulls a string of
huge beads from her...from a bodily orifice.
Well, we can't do that here, but we can
determine the ‑‑‑ uh ‑‑‑ capacity of each of
our contestants."  The backdrop curtain
opened to reveal five canvas mini‑cabanas,
little canvas booths.  Each had a waist‑high
door.  "Now girls, please step into your
booth and close the door.  Each girl will
find a bucket of unshelled pecans.  After
this message, our judges will determine
how many are left in each bucket.  The girl
who conceals the greatest number of nuts
inside her will receive a $25,000 bonus!
Start now."

The contestants squatted down behind the
doors but continued to smile out at the
audience.  After a while, during which there
would have been one or two commercial
messages, Mark announced, "Time's up.
Girls, please make sure you are decent and
come here.  Stand at attention while the
judges make their determination."

The girls stood up, some apparently
adjusting their  thongs, and walked to the
front of the stage.  Carla and Vera kept their
thighs pressed together.  Bree wobbled a
bit, and a pecan fell to the stage, eliciting
laughter.  "Judges, don't count that one."

The judges did their job and handed the
results to Mark Stark.  "My goodness!  Lili
has made the whole bucketful disappear! 
That's far more than any of the other
contestants could conceal in her body.

Lili, I'm afraid to ask, how did you do it?"

Lili smiled and spat out four pecans, so she
could reply.  "They are all inside my body,
Mr. Stark, but I used more than one orifice
to contain them."  There was laughter, and
one guy in back yelled, "She shoved 'em up
her ass."

"Unscripted, unrehearsed, folks, but she
seems to have won fair and square.  That's
a $25,000 bonus for you, Lili.  The next
contest is an endurance contest.  We'll
begin right after this message."
The girls ran off stage to remove the
pecans.  When they returned, there were
five fiberglass horses, like merry‑go‑round
horses, lined up on the stage with step
stools beside them.  There were no
stirrups.

"Mount up, girls."  The contestants each
mounted a horse and sat there, with their
thighs spread and their little cloth patches
pulled tightly between their outer labia.
The overhead cameras lingered in close‑
ups between their legs, while comely
assistants, in black cat suits, removed the
step stools.  "You will note that, without
stirrups, it may be difficult to keep your
seat on the horse, but, of course, you can
hold onto its neck, as long as your feet
hang free.  Each contestant who remains
seated until the end of the program will
receive the $50,000 bonus.  Any who falls
off or says 'stop' will not. Any questions?
Begin."

At first, the girls relaxed, smiling and
giggling among themselves, and the
audience might have been bored, but for
the projected close‑ups of the women's
anatomy.  Suddenly, the contestants
became quiet and serious, and the

audience mood changed, too.  From slots
along the centerline of the saddles, dull
aluminum blades rose slowly upward.  The
rounded edge, curved like the saddle,
pressed the thongs deeper into the genital
clefts, and, slowly, the buttocks were lifted
from the saddles, so each contestant's
weight was supported entirely by pressure
of the metal between her legs.  Clearly, this
was painful, and it could only get worse.
Lili looked upward and stoically remained
silent.  Carla was vocal, "Oh. Ow. Oh‑my‑
god!", and she writhed, her big breasts
wobbling to the delight of the spectators.
Vera gritted her teeth and tried to use her
knees and thighs to relieve some of the
torturous pressure, but, when her legs
slipped on the slippery flank of her horse,
the resulting blow to her vagina convinced
her to stop that.  Marjo lapsed into profanity
about motherfucking white men; they cut
off her microphone.  Bree just sobbed and
groaned uncontrollably.  The audience
lapsed into silence, staring raptly at the
suffering women.

The contestants had no way to know how
much longer they must bear the torture,
but, with a million dollars at stake, they
were all determined to put up with
anything.  Mark was getting queries from
the producers, transmitted to his earpiece. 
The suits were uneasy about the cruel turn
of events.  Mark signaled an out of sight
stage hand, and the horses began to vibrate
and slowly tilt forward.  The contestants
slid forward on the blades and had to push
away from the horses necks, for otherwise
the curved blades  would have crushed
their clitorises.  Then the horses tilted back,
threatening anuses.  Slowly the pace
picked up, so the horses rocked back and
forth, and the women were using all their
strength to minimize the sawing action of
the blades.

Bree screamed, "Stop!"  Her horse stopped.
The blade retreated.  The women in cat
suits lifted her off and hustled her back
stage.  Just then a loud claxon sounded
and the other  horses stopped.  "Too bad
about Bree," announced Mark, "if she had
held out another thirty seconds, she'd be
$50,000 richer and still have a shot at the
grand prize.  Well, congratulations, Lili,
Carla, Vera, and Marjo.   You are invited to
keep playing, You Bet Your Butt!"

The producers had planned to record a
week's worth of games one right after the
other, but it was clear the contestants were
in no shape to continue right then.  The
audience was invited to return tomorrow,
and the women went back to their rooms to
recover.  The St. Rastus Corp. was happy to
extend their stay, since almost everyone in
the audience wanted to stay longer, too.

Overnight, the industry was excited, just by
word of mouth.  Every room at the St. Rastus
Resort was booked, and motels in a fifty
mile radius were filling fast as scalpers
scrambled to buy and sell tickets to the
games.  The St. Rastus people hurried  to
arrange closed circuit live transmission of
the games for their guests and bar patrons.
Certain VIPs planned trips to the resort.

Tuesday:

The next show started much like the first.
After the strip tease, more interviews.  Vera
revealed that she had won third prize in a
statewide weight lifting contest for women.
Marjo told of her volunteer work with ghetto
children.

"Today's contest," announced Mark,
"involves teamwork.  We have recruited a
dozen male volunteers from the audience.
Will they please come up here on the

stage?"  A dozen young men upstaged the
girls.  "Girls, you don't know just what your
team will be asked to do, but please choose
the man you will work with."  The audience
was amused, particularly by projected
close‑ups below the waist, as the
apparently naked women selected their
sexually excited team mates.  The eight
losers reluctantly returned to the audience.

The back curtain opened to reveal four of
the mini‑cabanas, modified to have a waist
high door at both the front and back.  "The
teams will get ready during this message."
When the curtains opened again, the young
studs, apparently naked, stood behind the
doors in back, while the female contestants
stood behind the closed front doors.  "The
rules are very simple.  No hands.
Contestants, show us your hands and keep
them in sight."  The men and women all
raised their hands, as if at gunpoint, and
smiled at the audience.  "Now, each man
has inserted
his member through a hole in the back
door.  The first team to achieve an
ejaculation wins $25,000 for each team
member.  Keep your hands in sight at all
times.  Ready, begin."

Carla, Vera, and Marjo dropped to their
knees behind the doors and got to work,
invisible to the audience but for their raised
hands and occasional glimpses of the back
of their bobbing heads.  There were, of
course, hidden cameras recording close‑
ups of the real action, but those scenes
would be reserved for a special audience. 
Lili adjusted her thong, stepped up to her
team mate, rubbed her little tits against
him, and began a series of bumps and
grinds.  When it was evident she was
impaled on his member, she bounced on
her toes, while her team mate sweated,
waved his arms, and vocalized.  The other

men, however, were also showing signs of
great excitement, and their screams of "Go
baby!" and other encouragements were
caught by the microphones, in spite of
shouts from the audience, which was on its
feet, trying to see more.

It was close.  Team Lili seemed to be in the
throes of orgasms, but Carla jumped to her
feet and showed the audience her cum‑
streaked face.  Vera and Marjo did so
seconds later.  All Lili had to show was a
sodden thong and semen dribbling down
her inner thigh.  The women assembled by
the footlights, while the curtain closed and
the men got dressed.   "The judges rule that
Team Carla won.  She and her team mate
will each get $25,000, for mere minutes of
work.  I bet that was fun, too."  The
audience erupted in laughter and cheers.
"Tell us, Carla, to what do you attribute
your success?"

"Well, Mark, I have to give credit to my team
mate for an outstanding performance, but I
like to think we won as a result of hard
work and superior  technique.  In high
school, I was a cheerleader for the football
team, so I've had lots of practice."  More
cheers from the audience.  After a
commercial break, the males, dressed now,
came forth to be introduced, and the winner
was handed his check.

"And now," proclaimed Mark Stark, "the
endurance contest.  Remember, any
contestant can withdraw from the contest
at any time, simply by yelling, 'stop.'"
When the curtain opened again, the canvas
booths had been replaced by four wooden
tables.  Each contestant was invited to sit
on the end  of a table, with her lower legs
dangling.  Her knees were fixed to the table
with straps, and she lay back while her
hands were secured to the table above her

head.  Each woman was displayed to the
audience in profile, breasts upthrust, and
Carla was clearly a favorite, with her
mammoth mammary mounds standing forth
like the onion domes on a Bavarian church.
"This game is You Bet Your Butt, so, ladies,
if you will lift your butt for a moment..."
The girls arched their backs, while the cat
suit chicks slid metal sheets under raised
buttocks.  "OK, relax."
The cat suits placed buckets of salt water
so that each contestant's bare feet were
immersed.  Then thick electrical cables
were attached to the buckets and the metal
plates.  On the large display screen, the
analog dial of a meter was projected.  It was
marked, volts, and the audience gasped
when they realized what lay in store for the
contestants.

"Remember girls, if you can't stand the
heat, you can get out of the kitchen by
yelling, 'stop', but, you lose $50,000 and
your chance at the grand prize.  I am
assured by a retired CIA interrogator that,
while you may wish you were dead, no real
harm will come to you.  Now, to play You
Bet Your Butt, begin."

The needle on the projected dial jumped
momentarily.  In the audience, there was a
collective intake of breath.  Carla said, "It
tickles."  The needle jumped again, and
Marjo said, "Fuck, it burns."  Her expletive
would be bleeped when the game was
broadcast on cable.  Lili, whose thong was
still sodden with semen, was getting
shocks to her clitoris, and she lay there
twitching and smiling, while the other
contestants completed the circuit through
the relatively dry skin of their buns.  The
excursions of the voltmeter needle became
larger, more frequent, and lasted longer.
Vera, whose muscles  were a wonder,
easily lifted her bottom off the metal plate,

supporting her weight on her shoulders
and knees.  She was spared the shocks as
long as she could hold that rather strained
position.  The other contestants were
writhing uncontrollably.  Each jolt of
electricity, flowing between the wet feet and
the butt cheeks, or the cunt, in Lili's case,
would stimulate the muscles of the back of
the legs.  This would cause the pelvis to
thrust upward and might break the circuit
momentarily, so the victim would vibrate on
the table as her muscles spasmed and
relaxed, as she bounced on the metal plate. 
Lili made grunting noises.  Vera was quiet.
Marjo screamed she would sue these
bastards, though, in reality, the legal
department assured the producers  that all
the forms were signed and no suit would
succeed, except, perhaps, a wrongful death
suit. Carla, her jugs vibrating violently,
shuddered and screamed, sometimes
calling for her mother.  Ultimately, Vera's
butt touched the metal plate, and from then
on she flopped like a fish as the electricity
robbed her of control of her body.

At last the horn sounded, and the needle
dropped to zero.  The contestants lay there,
panting, some twitching, quite wasted.
"There you have it, folks, another game of
You Bet Your Butt.  This time, all the
contestants endured the game to the end,
so they are all $50,000 richer, and they can
all return for a chance for the grand prize."

That night, games one and two were
broadcast on cable to a select audience.
The consensus was that You Bet Your Butt
would be the hit of the cable season.  Mark
Stark got a call from the Attorney General
and another from the head of the Federal
Communications Commission, but he
assured them both that the FCC has no
jurisdiction over cable programs and the
producers could not be prosecuted for

obscenity by the AG, because the nipples
and cunts were legally covered; reference
the case of United States vs. Hustler
Channel.  No, public torture is not illegal in
the United States.  Various industry VIPs
were elated or depressed by what they saw,
and the advertising department doubled the
rates for subsequent shows.  Mark told his
wife he would be a Vice President of the
company by the end of the first season, and
he might well be in line for CEO.

Wednesday:

"Greetings, ladies and gentlemen.  St.
Rastus Resorts and Boobs Bar‑B‑Q bring
you another edition of cable's hottest
reality game show, You Bet Your Butt.  Our
four contestants, Lili, Carla, Vera, and Marjo
are fully recovered and ready to play.  Let's
give them a big hand."  The audience
responded as the four beauties strutted in
their high heels and tight BOOBS shirts.
Mark explained the rules, and the girls did
their strip tease, seemingly naked with their
realistic nipple covers and flesh colored
thongs.  During the interviews, Lili
confessed that she was not dating at
present, and Marjo said her most fervent
wish was for world peace and an end to
racial discrimination.  For the no‑loser
contest, the $25,000 prize, the curtain
opened to reveal the four canvas booths,
each equipped with a horizontal bar.  "OK,
contestants, it's time to play You Bet Your
Butt.  Put one foot on each of the boxes in
front of you."  The four women stepped up,
their legs spread about two feet.  "Bend
over the bar.  In front of you is a grip with a
switch.  Can you all reach it?  Squeeze the
grip."  Each woman had to bend far over
the bar to reach the grip, so her bottom was
uppermost and delightfully displayed, her
tiny fabric cunt cover molding itself into her
vulva.  A light went on over each booth as

they tested the switches.  "Now, if my
assistants will just bring up the butt
busters..."  The women in black cat suits
rolled a machine behind each contestant
and raised the wheels, so it was firm on the
floor.  It consisted of a pedestal with a
horizontal shaft at the top.  Attached to the
shaft was a multi‑tailed whip, like a cat 'o
nine tails, which would be flung upward
against the contestant's spread thighs and
butt cheeks with each revolution of the
shaft.  Atop each machine was a large
digital display to count the revolutions.
"Now, the harder the squeeze on the grip,
the faster the shaft  turns and the harder
the whip will strike.  The contestant with
the most revolutions when time is up wins
$25,000.  The others get nothing.  OK, it's
time for you to bet your butt.  Go!"

Lili and Vera immediately squeezed the grip
as hard as they could.  The light over each
shone brightly as the whip went  whap,
whap, whap, too fast to count, except the
numbers on the display grew steadily.
Carla tried her butt‑buster, but she gave up
after 13 revolutions, sobbing in pain or
despair or both.  Marjo lasted for more than
60, but she never got to full speed and thus
was spared the full strength of the lashes.
Meanwhile, Lili and Vera were screaming
encouragement to themselves through
clenched teeth, as the spinning lashes
slashed their thighs and asses and, of
course, pounded the thin fabric of the cunt‑
covering thong.  The skin of Lili and Vera
was bright red, covered with thousands of
overlapping welts and not a few bleeding
abrasions, when the bell finally rang and
the machines turned off.  Vera, perhaps
because of her stronger grip, was declared
the $25,000 winner by a margin of only 17
revolutions.  Lili's thong has torn.  The
fabric embedded in her vulva kept her legal,
but the string in back was a torn tangle.  Lili

was hustled off‑stage for a new thong.

"Well, Vera, you are now $25,000 richer.
How do you feel?"

"Very sore.  I'm not sure I'd do it again for
twice the money."

"Vera, we have faith in you.  You are a
competitor with a capital C.  After this
message, something different on You Bet
Your Butt."

Four massage tables were brought out in
front of the now closed curtain.  "Members
of our audience were given numbers for a
drawing of the door prize.  Now's the time."
Vera was asked to pick four numbers from
a bowl.  "The winners will get to massage
soothing lotion on our contestants' beaten
butts!  The winners are, number 137,
number 62, number 929, number 416.  Raise
your hand if you have a winning number."
One young woman who won gave her
winning ticket to her boy friend, so three
guys and a gal marched down to do their
duty.  By the time they reached the stage,
the four contestants were prone on the
massage tables, butt up over a pillow, and
the door prize winners could start to work
with any of several colors of lotion, some
warm, some cool.  The woman chose Lili,
and she tried very hard, in the nurturing
way of a woman, to ease Lili's pain, gently
rubbing icy lotion over the welts and
bruises.  The guy who got Vera worked
vigorously, as if trying to rub away the
raised welts, and Vera loved it, though it
must have caused her more pain.  Carla,
who was almost unmarked, got a sensual
massage which had her moaning
orgasmically, while the projection TV
showed the guy with his hand hidden
between her thighs.  Marjo, whose man was
eggplant black, chatted with him as he

perfunctorily smeared lotion over her back
and buttocks and thighs.   She kept her
thighs pressed together and was not about
to let him cop a feel of her cunt.

"Well, now that the butts are buttered, it's
time for our endurance contest, as soon as
we pause for some important messages."
The tables were removed, and the women
in cat suits came out with paraphernalia,
the function of which was not immediately
obvious.  The contestants stood in line, at
attention.  "For those of you watching this
at home, let me warn you.  What will follow
is not for the squeamish, and you may
prefer to change channels now."  The
audience was on the edges of their seats
with tension and anticipation.  Deftly, the
cat suits fitted something that looked like a
hose clamp over each breast.  As it
tightened, each breast took on a spherical
shape and began to blush, except, of
course, is wasn't yet obvious with Marjo.

Almost immediately, Carla yelled, "Stop!
This silly game isn't worth a busted
implant.  I'm going to Hollywood, and my
tits have to be in good shape."  The clamps
were removed, and she was led off stage.
She did, of course, get lots of offers from
Hollywood, when the games were shown
endlessly on cable TV, but she never got
that starring role she dreamed of.

"Three contestants are left, in the running
for $50,000 and a chance at the grand
prize." Lili's little tits were compressed and
looked like red golf balls on her chest, as
they expanded with arterial blood, but the
venous blood flow was restricted by the
clamps.  Vera's were swollen like soft balls,
and turning purple.  Marjo's, like base balls,
were a distinctly different shade, but her
skin pigment muted the effect.  The curtain
was opened, and it revealed a rectangular

frame, like goal posts with a pipe cross bar.
The cat suits arranged step ladders, and the
three contestants were invited to grasp the
cross bar.  Bungee cords hanging from the
bar were clipped to the tit clamps, and, at a
sign from Mark, the step ladders were
pulled away, leaving the women hanging
from their hands.

Marjo could hold on for only a few
seconds.  As her fingers slipped from the
bar, she fell a few inches and she screamed
as the rubber cords pulled tight and she
was suspended her by her tits.  She gritted
her teeth and moaned as she bounced up
and down and swung like a pendulum, her
legs thrashing air and her breasts pulled
upward from her chest like a wad of soft
chewing gum being pulled off a chair
bottom.

Lili was next to fall, though she managed to
transfer her grip from the bar to the cords
and thus soften the drop.  Her little golf
balls looked as if they would tear off, but
her skin was young and tough, and she
hung there, swinging gently.  When she
became accustomed to the pain, she looked
over at Vera and smiled.

Vera was proud of her strength and
perhaps too confident.  When she finally
tired and fell from the bar, the rubber cords
to her tits stretched a foot or more, and she
rebounded upwards with a howl of pain.  In
time, she stopped swinging, and she, like
Lili, hung quietly, so as to minimize the
strain on her tits.   The audience was rapt,
as they stared at the three women who
voluntarily subjected themselves to tit
stretching torture, tears running down their
cheeks.  Incredibly, the plastic nipple
covers still adhered to the distorted
breasts, a testament to the strength of
Eastman 913 adhesive.

At last, Mark called time, and the cat suit
women lowered the contestants to the floor
and removed the tit clamps.  "Once again,
we lost a contestant, but the remaining
three are $50,000 richer and still in the
running for the grand prize.  You will be
pleased to know that a cosmetic surgeon in
our audience has offered to repair or
improve, no charge,  the breasts of any
contestant who requires his skills.  That's
it, ladies and gentlemen.  Don't forget to
join us for the next game of You Bet Your
Butt!"

After the game, the producers held a
conference.  "This is taking longer than we
planned," said one.  "If we can only do one
show a day, it means a big cost overrun."

"Fuck the cost.  We have a gold mine here.
When we began, St. Rastus said they were
taking a chance, said we'd be lucky to place
the show on the travel channel where their
ads might do some good.  Now they realize
they'll draw customers where ever this is
shown, especially if the customers get to
watch the games in person.  The package
of room and game tickets, with two free
drinks, goes for $900 a night, if you're
lucky, and they don't  have enough to sell.
The price will go up as soon as these
shows are distributed."

Mark, who owned a piece of the show,
mentioned his concerns.  "With a million
dollars at stake, there's no shortage of
applicants for the games, but we're down
two contestants already, and if we keep
losing one a day, it's going to cost us a
million dollars a week.  Do we have to make
the games easier?"

"Hell, no.  St. Rastus is happy to take care of
most of the overhead.  A million a week is
cheap for this property.  A dozen channels

are in a bidding war to be the first to show
this stuff.  The sky's the limit."

"Mark said, "We could do two shows a day,
if we had a second set of contestants.  OK,
so the girls need a day to recover from the
games, but we could be doing the next set
of games at the same time."

"Yeah, that would save some time and
money, but St. Rastus realizes they've got a
gold mine here.  People will pay to watch
us do one show a day, and then they piss
away their money at the slots and tables.
St. Rastus wants us here all year, so what's
the point of getting ahead of ourselves.
Let's not kill the goose that lays the golden
eggs."

"Screw the goose.  If St. Rastus doesn't want
to do it our way, there's lots of other
venues."

"No, they've got an exclusive.  If You Bet
Your Butt gets made, it has to be made at a
St. Rastus Resort."

"Let's do a second series at a second St.
Rastus resort.  We'd all make twice as
much."

"Good idea.  I'll take it up with our legal
advisors."

"Wait a minute," said Mark, "I own a piece
of this show, and I can't be at two resorts at
once.  Besides, we've got a creative
problem, how to end this set and what to
do for the next round of games."

"What's the matter?  You were always a fan
of the scene.  Go on the internet for
inspiration."

"You don't understand.  I can come up with

some torment that will eliminate Marjo.  She
almost gave up today.  But Lili and Vera will
stick with it unto death, to get that million
dollars.  We have to be careful what tasks
we give them, so it doesn't favor Vera and
her strength.  We have to seem to be fair.
And further, we have to stay legal.  Shit, the
audience would love it if the girls were
fucked by horses, but we'd go to jail.  We
have to avoid any lasting damage.  That last
tit‑dangling stunt was right on the edge."

"Another job for legal to look into."

"Say, suppose the girls have to run an
obstacle course, with the prize at the end.
It could get progressively worse, thorn
bushes, swamps, wasps, leeches, and so
on, until two of the three give up."

"St. Rastus wouldn't stand for that.  They
want to project an image of a friendly,
comfortable resort, not a swampy hell hole.
Besides, it has to be something every
contestant can do, if she's determined.
What if one can't swim, or is allergic to bee
stings?"

"Mark, you'd better come up with
something soon.  We have to maintain the
momentum."

Thursday:

The next day, after the BOOBS shirts came
off, the boobs turned out to be in latex bras,
flesh colored, with the nips painted on.
Mark was just too embarrassed to show off
the girls' bruised tits until they'd recovered
a bit.  When the skirts came off, the thong‑
clad bottoms still showed traces of former
abuse, but it wasn't too bad.  "Who's going
to win?" Mark said to Lili.

"I am, because I'm smart, and I can beat the

mind‑body game, take anything you can
dish out, for a million dollars."

"Vera, what do you say to that?"

"I'm going to win, Mark, because I'm tough
and in condition.  You can't wear me down.
My butt's like brass.  I'll bet on it."

"Marjo, are you going to win?"

"Yes, because I know of the natural
superiority of the African woman.  I can
take anything those pale softies can."

"OK, you know the pattern by now, first a
race, then an endurance task.  Have you
any idea what the race is?"  They all shook
their heads.  "The first row of the audience
is all volunteers, men and women who are
willing to cooperate for the sake of show
biz, or for that moment of fame, or
whatever.  One of them has a check for
$25,000 concealed on their person.  Your
job is to find it.  Go."

Lili stood on the stage, studying faces.  She
figured that the person would know and
might betray the fact with body language.
Marjo took the direct route, wading into the
spectators and groping them.  She ripped
open the blouse of a young bride and
slipped her hands into the bra.  The
audience loved it.  Marjo shoved her arm up
her victim's skirt and did things best left to
the imagination.  The ticket holders had
active imaginations and howled as if this
was a public gang rape.  Vera started at one
end of the row and intimidated each person
in turn, until each convincingly denied
having the check.  If in doubt that they were
telling the truth, Vera would cause them
pain to encourage honesty.  With women,
Vera tried going for their breasts, but too
many had padded bras, so she would pull

their hair or twist an ear or give them an
"Indian burn" on the arm until they would
reveal whether or not they had the check. 
With men, she went for the balls, and they
all responded promptly.

Lili watched the faces, and then went
directly to a pimply‑faced teenage chick.
As Lili  got to her, Vera appeared, throwing
Lili to the floor and assaulting the chick,
tearing at her clothes.  Vera soon had her
victim down to bra and panties, and would
have stripped her naked, but she found the
check first, in the chick's butt crack.  The
audience by now was out of their seats and
crowding around the scene, but the
overhead cameras got enough shots to
assure good ratings.  Vera got the check.
Lili was a good loser.  Marjo threw a temper
tantrum.

Finally, order was restored, after a
commercial break no doubt, and the chick
who had concealed the check was taken
away and mollified with a offer of three
thousand dollars  worth of new clothes
from the resort boutique.

"Now, in the time remaining, the endurance
test, with $50,000 going to any contestant
who can last  to the end."  The curtain
opened to reveal three St. Andrew's
crosses, X shaped.  The three women were
strapped to the crosses, their arms and
legs spread.  Behind the crosses was a
shallow pool with clear plastic sides and
about half a foot of water in it.  The girls, on
their crosses, were placed in the water.  It
flowed up between their spread legs, but
their faces, tits, and belies were well above
the water level.  Overhead cameras
projected images of their faces, Lili placid,
Vera grinning, Marjo worried.

"OK, folks, here comes the fun."  The cat

suit women came out with big plastic
garbage cans.  They put the rims on the
edge of the pool and, when Mark said,
"Go!", they removed the lids.  Hundreds of
rats, the white ones you can buy from a
catalog, tumbled into the water and began
swimming to the only places that were
above water, the contestants bodies.

"Marjo screamed, "Stop!  Stop!  I hate rats!"
The curtain closed (for a commercial break)
and when it opened there were only two
contestants left but rats enough for three.
Rats completely covered the supine girls; it
was a wonder they could breath, as rats
clambered on rats and a few fell off to swim
and try again to climb aboard.  All this
could be watched through the sides of the
plastic pool and viewed on projection
screens with close‑ups of writhing rats, no
bare skin to be seen, not even fingers or
toes.  Finally, the claxon sounded, and the
curtain closed.

The CEO had flown in for a conference.
"Listen up," he said, needlessly, "this is
shaking the industry, and we have to stake
out our slots before everyone piles on.
There are a dozen cable channels bidding
for You Bet Your Butt.  The Leather Channel
wants us to do a show with male
contestants, something like You Bet Your
Balls.  Mark, your wife, Portia, has a
proposal in to produce Torture Tales.
She's found an old stone Victorian‑style
mansion, so we won't even have to wait
until sets are built.   Now, Mark, can you
produce at least five shows a week?"

"Tomorrow is Friday.  We've got four in the
can."

Alright.  Here's the plan.  There will be a
show every weeknight, after the evening
news, opposite Jay Leno and Conan

O'Brien.  We'll clean up.  On Saturday, we'll
run a Best of the Butt Bets, an assortment
of highlights. Of course, I wouldn't  profane
the Sabbath by running Mark's show on
Sunday."

Mark said,"You mean you want a new set of
contestants every week?  That'll cost a lot
of prize money."

"Fuck the money.  You spend money to
make money.  Since stills hit the internet,
we've been swamped with boys and girls
just begging to be allowed to show how
tough they are on worldwide cable TV."

"You are telling me that one of the
contestants must be eliminated tomorrow."

"Yes.  Do whatever you have to.  Break
bones, if necessary, but the game ends
Friday, and a new one starts for Monday.  If
you want, start right away, cause St. Rastus
will pay us extra if we shoot on weekends,
when they can get the highest ticket prices.
Overtime is no object.  Do two games a day,
if you can."

Friday:

On the last day, Lili and Vera came out on stage
with a skimpy bikini painted on in opaque,
waterproof body paint, silver for Lili, gold
for Vera.  It was legal.  Tits and twat were
covered with an opaque covering, but it left
nothing to the imagination.  Vera's large clit
was apparent for the first time.  "Vera, Lili,
today one of you may get the grand prize, a
million dollars!  The endurance trial  is
going to be painful.   Lili, Vera's a top
athlete.  Do you think you can stand more
pain than she can?"

"Yes, Mark, I do.  I've been practicing
meditation.  When the pain gets severe, I'll

close my eyes and think good thoughts,
ignore my body while I feed my soul.  I'll
never quit first."

"Vera, you heard what Lili said.  Can you
beat her?"

"Yes, Mark, I'll win.  My boy needs that
prize money, and I'll never quit."

The $25,000 opener was a series of silly
activities which were designed to show off
the lean and sexy bodies of the
contestants.  First they shot baskets, tits
jiggling.  Vera won handily.  Next they
played jacks, crouching on the floor, and
Lili won.  Last was an obstacle course,
climbing a rope, negotiating a horizontal
bridge of ropes, and sliding down a
fireman's pole.  To everyone's surprise, Lili
won, her litheness and quickness besting
Vera's strength.  After the pole, they took a
quick break to touch up Vera's paint job,
repainting her prominent clitoris, which had
grown and rubbed against the pole.  A little
digital editing would clean up the
recordings before they were broadcast.

When the curtain opened for the finale,
there was the clear plastic pool, and the
water, but no rats.  The cat suit girls bound
the contestants' arms, hands to shoulder,
so they had useless "seal flippers" and
could not use their hands in the task to
come.  Their thighs and ankles were
strapped to a rectangular frame, so that
their legs were spread ‑‑‑ close‑ups of the
gaping vaginas, legally covered with silver
and gold ‑‑‑ and held straight.  The cat‑suits
positioned Lili and Vera back to back at
either end of the pool and let them stand,
while the cats brought out, behind them,
where they could not see, two black cones,
about a foot in diameter at the base,
perhaps two feet high, with hoses leading

to the base.  The cones were put in the
water, roughly two feet from the ends of the
pool.  "Lili, Vera, this is going to be painful.
Are you ready?"  Both said they were.
"Begin."

The cat‑suit women lifted the girls and
raised the frames until their ankles rested
on the edge of the pool.  The cats lowered Vera
and Lili until the tips of the cones entered
the anus, then let go.  Both contestants
screamed, as they sank down on the cones,
which stretched the anal opening painfully.
The audience was stunned.  Since the girls
were seen in profile (except for certain
special cameras) the actual anal penetration
was invisible, therefore legal, but the
audience could easily estimate, as the girls
slowly sank further down on the cones,
how much their little rosebuds were being
stretched and, most likely, torn.  Both Vera
and Lili adopted stoic silence, Lili with her
eyes closed, Vera turning her head to scan
the audience of her rapt admirers.

When it became apparent that neither girl
would quit soon, Mark announced, "Now,
we introduce a special isotonic fluid.  Since
the hoses are connected to a common
source, each contestant will be exposed to
the same pressure, which will slowly
increase until, perhaps, we hear the magic
word which will end this game."  The cat‑
suit women uncovered  a large clear
plastic bucket, with the two hoses coming
out of the bottom.  A hoist and cable slowly
lifted the bucked.  At first, it was only
inches above the assholes, but the
audience could see the liquid level drop.
The higher the bucket rose, the more the
liquid flowed out, and the contestants
began to show the effects.  Vera tightened
her abdominal muscles, as if to squeeze the
fluid out, but Lili just relaxed.  Her belly
visibly bulged out, but she remained calm,

eyes closed, as if in a trance.

Minutes passed, as the bucket was hoisted
slowly upward, and the girls showed the
effects of increasing pressure.  Vera
couldn't hold it, and she squirmed on her
cone as her belly bulged ever more
evidently.  Her tits jiggled as she panted;
possibly the fluid was pressing upward on
her diaphram.  Lili, almost as if praying or
contemplating her navel, slumped forward
as her belly ballooned.  Finally, the stand‑
by physician made them stop increasing
the pressure, fearing serious internal
injuries.  Vera huffed and puffed, while Lili
stayed silent.

"OK," said Mark, "We are taking the pain a
step higher."  Two cat‑suit chicks came out
with large syringes.  "Each syringe
contains petroleum base paint remover and
capsaicin, essentially the same thing as
pepper spray."  His assistants applied the
tip of the syringe between the legs of the
contestants and injected a quantity of
peppery solvent.  Lili, the stoic, did not
react.  Vera, screamed, "Ah! It burns! I can't
stand it.  Stop! Stop!"  The curtain closed,
but Vera could still be heard screaming,
until the doctor gave her a shot which
knocked her out.

"The judges," said Mark Stark, "inform me
that, while Vera was the first to say stop
and should therefore lose, it seems Lili was
in shock, unconscious, and was unable to
say stop.  In consideration of the
indeterminate result, the judges award the
prize to both contestants."  The audience
went wild but calmed down at last.  "In the
next hour, we will start a new game of You
Bet Your Butt, but in the time remaining,
lets's introduce our new contestants."

Five smiling centerfold‑quality women

pranced out on the stage, in red, yellow,
green, blue, and purple body paint.  Each
had visions of winning a million dollars,
and none had the slightest idea of what
they would go through to get it.

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