To cries of encouragement from her teammates, the tracksuited girl dashes across the floor, her hands tied firmly behind her back, her cheeks bulging. Arriving at a large plexiglass tank at one end of the TV studio, she leans forward, opens her mouth and discharges her cargo. A mouthful of hideous, live, fat-bodied maggots are spat out to join the many hundreds already wriggling inside. Hurriedly she turns and sprints back to fetch another mouthful from a large container of the grubs at the other end of the studio.
On reaching the large see-thru dustbin, she opens her jaws wide and plunges her head into the writhing mass, gobbling them up like a starving dog. The inane background music, punctuated by bursts of laughter from the audience, only add to the poor girl’s obvious discomfort. Her agitation increases when, in her haste, she causes yet another of the beasties to go ‘
pop
’ between her lips. But then, just as her face emerges from the evil-smelling swarm, mouth crammed full to overflowing, the music suddenly cuts out: to Jacqui’s immense relief, her fifteen minutes of fame are over.
“Well done, Jacqueline!!” cries the grinning compere, “You managed to transfer two buckets of maggots, and that moves Durham University up into first place!!”
The girl smiles weakly at the wild applause from the audience, glare from the bright studio lights reflecting off the glistening maggot juice on her chin; with her hands still bound, she is unable to wipe it away. It’s not the glamorous TV debut she had in mind.
"But there's still everything to play for in this ‘
GIVE UP YET?
’ Ladies’ Grand Final…” the compere booms, “…with the three team’s scores still close, it’s all down to our final game of the evening – in fact our final game of the series!”
He has the full attention of all twelve remaining female contestants. They are all that is left of an original field of twenty teams of eight girls each. They look uneasy, and with good reason; the games have become increasingly unpleasant as the series has progressed, so this one is bound to be a real stinker. But despite this, it never even crosses their minds to back out now…
When it was first broadcast, the G.U.Y. gameshow was a hotchpotch of daft slapstick challenges that the contestants endured with good humour. The emphasis was firmly on fun, with the possibility of a big cash prize at the end. But gradually, with the games becoming tougher, and the weaker teams being eliminated, attitudes have begun to change. Over the last few weeks, new rules have required that the girls dismiss a member of their own team by secret vote at the end of every episode. Thus the penalty for flunking a round could be swift expulsion by your teammates, with no chance of sharing the cash prize at the end.
The end result is that, after an ordeal stretched over four months, the surviving girls have become ruthlessly focussed on staying in the contest, blinded to the awfulness of the challenges they are asked to undertake. The intensity of their rivalry has risen almost as rapidly as the viewing figures. It has become about more than the £100,000 prize money: now winning is all that matters.
The beaming compere continues: “So, if the Southampton team would like to follow me to Studio 2, we’ll get started!”
He gestures to one group of four young students. They swap glances and troop off the set after him. This is all pretty much par for the course; the show has achieved such popularity, that it’s possible to fill two separate TV studios. It’s an arrangement which also prevents the girls from seeing what delights are being prepared for them. Not that it really matters at this point: right now the girls seem willing to do absolutely
anything
to win - and the show’s producers are about to put that to the test!
The contestants left behind in Studio 1 move so they can watch events on a row of overhead monitors. As per usual, they are replaying highlights of the previous game – three reluctant young women forced to become a taxi service for a horde of maggots – but they abruptly cut to Studio 2 to show the Southampton girls arriving.
As the girls walk into Studio 2, they find it empty except for a plexiglass cubicle in the centre. The audience is hushed, not giving anything away.
The compere resumes: “Now then ladies, as usual, to decide who will represent you, we’ll take a draw…” he produces a large hat, which he shakes before pulling out a small, white card.
“And the player is: Deborah Turner!"
To muted cheering, a brunette girl of about 20 steps tentatively forwards; like the others, she is attired in a white t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. She might look nervous, but in her mind Deborah is determined that whatever the challenge is, however horrendous, she will get down to it straight away. She’s seen too many games lost by dithering contestants.
The compere guides her over to stand in the plastic booth. “Now to your challenge, Deborah,” he continues with a wry grin. “For this game, we will need the assistance of the G.U.Y. guys!”
The TV cameras pan round as, to a burst of pounding rock music, a group of about four dozen muscular, good-looking men file into the studio. There are gasps and nervous laughter from among the female audience members: all the men are completely nude but for brightly-coloured G-strings! The Southampton girl, her face a mixture of puzzlement and concern, looks around for an explanation. She soon gets it.
"Deborah, your challenge, should you accept it, is this: ” the host pauses, building up the tension “
…YOU HAVE TO MAKE AS MANY OF THESE GUYS ORGASM AS POSSIBLE IN TEN MINUTES!!
"
A wave of shock passes through the audience. Debbie’s hand flies to her mouth. Her teammates look equally stunned by this unexpected announcement. The compere continues as if it was a perfectly normal request:
"…The rules are quite simple: you may use any means you like, but you may only touch one guy at a time. The boys themselves are not permitted to move; apart from that, anything goes!! There are ten points to be won for each satisfied customer within the ten minutes. Is that all clear, Deborah?”
Still in shock, Debbie finds herself nodding dumbly.
“OK Deborah, you have 10 minutes starting …NOW!!”
The first man approaches the booth. Everyone holds their breath, including the show’s producers. What if the girl flatly refuses to play any part in this outrageous game? This could be the biggest scandal in TV history!
Then, to their immense relief, the brunette kneels down before the man, her shaking fingers fumbling with the knot on his G-string. After some struggling the pouch falls away and his impressive manhood is exposed. Warily, she reaches out and curls her fingers around his erection, feeling it straighten and thicken until it is pointing right at her face. Then, slowly, she begins to move her hand up and down. Back in Studio 1, everyone gawps at the monitors, barely able to believe what they’re watching.
The stranger stands hands on hips as Debbie slowly builds up her pace. Two minutes pass; now the strain is beginning to show and his legs are buckling. Suddenly Debbie realises that she is right in the firing line of his quivering manhood. Hastily she shuffles to one side, just in time: his cock jerks fiercely as a jet of pearly come bursts from the tip, flying past her face and over her shoulder with terrific force. Gasps can be heard from the darkened audience.
Debbie releases the man, but even as he staggers off-stage, a different hunk steps forward to take his place. His pouch is already bulging, and as she yanks it off, his rapidly stiffening member springs into her fingers. Her eyes flash up to the man’s face; he grins back down at her. Soon she is tugging rhythmically on his salami, to the delight of the crowd. She maintains her steady masturbation, always careful to keep herself slightly to one side.
