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.