The Mating Game

The story so far: 20 years from now, Paul and Dianne are competing in the XXX-rated reality TV show 'Fucks for Bucks' for an ultimate prize of $69 million.

All characters are 18 or over. Comments are welcome.

The Mating Game Ch. 06

by Kris Cherita

Jordan blinked. "Fuck? Don't mind if I do. Have we met before?"

"Glad to say we haven't," replied Dianne, without moving any closer to the bed.

"Ah." The old man looked her up and down, from her pixie crop hairstyle to her business-like low-heeled pumps. "But you know who I am, and you blame me for something. You look too clean to be a socialist, even if you are from Massachusetts, so I'm guessing it was probably Qcoin. Am I right?"

"That, and Incellivesion."

"Ah, that. MRATV's not to everyone's taste, I admit, but I saw a niche, and if you'd invested in that instead of crypto you'd be making a modest but dependable income from the advertising revenue. Like it or not, incels will be with us until they can all afford sex robots. But you knew the crypto was a Ponzi scheme before you invested. Right?"

Dianne didn't answer.

"I thought so. Ponzi schemes are like comedy; it's all in the timing. Buy low, sell high before suckers realize that they'd have been better off buying tulip bulbs."

She stepped back to let Khaleesi and Ethan pass. "When people heard you'd sold --"

"It all collapsed within minutes. I know. But it would have done that anyway. So do you want to fuck or not?"

"You haven't answered my question. Why are you here? It can't be the money."

"Of course not," he scoffed.

"And it can't just be the sex: you can buy as much sex as you could possibly want. So why?" No answer. "You're not enough of a celebrity to get onto Orgy With The Stars?"

Most people wouldn't have noticed the micro-expression that flickered across the billionaire's face, but Dianne was skilled at cross-examination and she knew when she'd hit the mark. "You're scared that people will forget you. You can't be an influenza if you're invisible, can you?"

No answer.

"Not that you've been enormously visible -- I didn't even know you were here. But I bet your cult does, or at least that they've heard rumors. They're probably watching the show hoping for a glimpse of you, like a Hitchcock cameo. And I guess you haven't been getting enough sex to make it onto After Dark."

"Wrong," he said, idly stroking his dick until it was semi-erect. "I just prefer positions where the camera gets a good view of the woman, but not my face."

"I'm sure the viewers are grateful."

"Are you coming to bed, or are you going to stand there all night?"

"Only if you stay on your side of the bed. You know this place has a few rules."

"Does that mean anal is out of the question?"

"What do you think?"

"I think 69 thousand might change your mind."

***

Paul smiled when he recognized his assigned sleeping partner for the night: the slightly chubby young woman with light brown hair done in pigtails. "Hi. I'm Paul."

"Miranda," she said, with just enough hesitation to suggest that it wasn't her real name.

"Nice to meet you."

"You too. Isn't this place great? It's the best vacation I ever had. And it's all free! I don't even need to wash the dishes!"

Paul did a double-take, then sat on the bed beside her. He'd never considered that aspect of being on the show. The food wasn't up to the standard of the Michelin-starred restaurants he usually ate in while on vacation but it was comparable to the catering on cruises he'd taken.

"I guess you've had a lot more vacations than I have, though," Miranda continued. "Prob'ly been to more exciting places. But this is the furthest I ever been from home. First time I flew in a plane, too. Fanciest place I ate before this was a Chick-Fil-A, and I never been in a hot tub before. And I get to try on them fancy clothes, and they change the sheets every day, and I got my nails done and a free make-over -- I asked if they could do something with my hair, but they said the pigtails and the bush made it easier for the audience to remember me. You want to fuck? But only oral or anal, not in my cootchie. I promised my husband."

Paul considered a number of possible responses, and went with, "You know you may have to break that promise if that's one of the games?"

"The DP thing? Yeah, we discussed that. They've given me an implant, and the lawyer said they'll give me a morning-after pill any time someone come in my cootchie. We can't afford to have any kids yet, and back home you can get thirty years for having an abortion. Th'only drugstore in town don't sell any sort of birth control, even though we're married now, and the mailman looks at all the mail. Our first night here was the first time he came in my cootchie -- my husband, I mean, not the mailman. I've never fucked him, or anybody else in town, just Trey."

"How long've you been married?"

"Soon as we were both eighteen and could sneak across the border. Nearly a year now. You married?"

Paul realized she was not quite half his age. "Fifteen years. Started dating in high school. Are you worried about people back home seeing you on the show?"

"Oh, nobody gone admit to watching it. Sure, they'll hear about it, maybe graffiti our trailer, make some nasty remarks in church, shit like that, but if that makes Trey decide we need to leave town, that's fine with me, I been telling him that for years. And if we win -- and okay, I know we prob'ly won't -- we can buy our own place somewhere else. I mean, 69 million's got to buy a house, right?"

"In half of the states, at least. How's your husband feel about this?"

"Oh, he's having a great time. Cootchie nearly every night. So, you want to fuck?"

***

"69 thousand?" Dianne repeated.

"For anal. Stay in the game, and you'll be expected to do a lot more and probably end up with a lot less."

Dianne looked at his cock. It didn't look particularly large. "You expect me to take an IOU? You don't have the best reputation for paying your debts."

The old man shrugged. "That's why I'm rich. But I pay most of them, and this is Vegas: you wouldn't be here if you didn't gamble. And 69 thousand... that's a pair of Louboutins or Jimmy Choos."

"We're facing banktuptcy," she snapped. "I don't need... wait. You've bought bankrupt businesses and had businesses go bankrupt, right? You must have lawyers who're experts."

"Yes."

"On retainer?"

He raised a shaggy grey eyebrow. "Yes."

"Then here's my counter-offer. Your lawyers handle our Chapter 11, get us a better deal than we could have done, and you get to fuck me in the ass instead of the bankruptcy court doing it."

Jordan stared at her for a moment, then chuckled. "It's a deal. Get the lube."

***

Paul kissed his way down Miranda's chubby young body, pausing to suck her inverted nipples into chewy erection, then breathed in the scent of her furry cunt before licking around her clit and down her labia almost to her asshole, then up again, tracing a smaller circle around her clit before teasing her outer lips open. He drew shrinking circles around her clit until it popped out from under the hood, and he sucked on it gently until she wrapped her legs around his neck to try to hold him in place while she thrashed about on the bed. "Stop!" she whimpered, four orgasms later when she'd finally stopped coming long enough to regain the power of speech and remember simple words. "It's too much! Stop! Please!"

He gave her cunt lips one more kiss before sliding out of her grasp. He waited until her breathing had returned to normal, then asked, "Want to roll over?"

She nodded weakly, and obeyed. "Can I have some lube?" she asked, as he parted her cheeks and smiled at the sight of her little pink rosette.

"Of course," he promised. She giggled as he kissed both of her buttocks, then gasped as he ran his tongue down her crack until her reached her asshole and began rimming it.

"What are you doing?" she squealed.

"Licking your hot little hole," Paul replied. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No, it feels great, but... no-one's ever done that before!"

"Then, if you're enjoying it, it's high time someone did."

"Is that going to be enough lube?"

"No, but there's lube in the drawer. You can choose whichever one you like when you're ready to be fucked."

"I'll let you pick," Miranda said. "We just use Vaseline, and I have to shop-lift that so the whole town won't know what we're doing. But if you really like licking me back there..."

"I do."

"Then please keep going."

"My pleasure. Let me know when it gets to be too much."

She giggled as she felt his tongue run around her star-like folds. "Well, I have to be in make-up at six, but we'll probably want to fuck sometime before then."

***

So I'm officially a whore now, Dianne thought, as she let Jordan's softening dick slide out of her ass. "69 thousand worth of billable hours," she reminded him, as she lay down on her side of the bed.

"If you still need it," Jordan replied. "If you win, you won't."

Dianne snorted.

"You have a better chance than anybody else I've seen here," said the billionaire. "This isn't some British feel-good cooking show where everybody's incredibly nice. This is America, and most Americans who watch reality shows have come home from their shitty jobs wanting to see people hurt and humiliated worse than they are, and that's what you can give them, and unlike some of the other game shows, you won't even have to die. If you can grit your teeth and make it through to the episodes where votes from the TV audience decide who stays and goes, they'll keep voting for you to get all the way through to the season finale. After that, I'm not so sure," he admitted. "Some people do genuinely like amateur porn. Some will vote for the women with the biggest tits or the man with the biggest dick, blacks will vote for blacks and maybe that'll be enough to cancel out the racist vote. And goths will vote for goths, and so on... but there are bookies who'll let me bet on whether you make it to the finals, so I'm going to bet another 69 thousand that you do. If it pays off, I'll give you half on top of the 69 thou you just earned. Deal?"

"You're that confident?"

"I don't make a habit of backing losers. And I can persuade a lot of my followers to vote for you. The rest is up to you. DP, gangbangs, ass to mouth, bukkake, lesbian orgies... whatever it takes. Clear?"

***

Paul slipped a finger into Miranda's well-lubed asshole, enjoying the feeling of her sphincter opening and then closing around the digit. It was a sensation he always enjoyed, because it brought back memories of the first time he'd persuaded Dianne to grant him access to her splendid ass (as intense as Marcel Proust's flashback after tasting a Madeleine, and even more pleasurable. Eat your heart out, Proust.) When he was sure Miranda was ready and eager to be fucked, he rolled her onto her side and slowly eased the head of his cock into her lovely butt, enjoying her tightness. She hesitated briefly, then snuggled back into him, spoons-fashion, until his cock was as far inside her as it could go, her shapely cheeks pressed against his pelvis, then began to move away. Paul allowed her to set the rhythm, and soon they were fucking frantically. She rubbed her cunt while he fondled her breasts, and she squealed in delight at each assgasm, coming three times before Paul reached the point where he couldn't hold back any longer and erupted inside her. The familiar welcome warm wetness of jizz filling her favorite fuckhole caused her to climax, and they lay clasped together, panting as the afterglow slowly subsided.

"Wow," she said, a moment later, "you can do that to me anytime you want."

Paul kissed her neck, making her giggle. "Won't your husband mind?"

"Well, he can't fuck me again until we're out of the game, but he's fucking lots of other women, so..." She shrugged. "He's with that Candy Lou tonight, the one with all the piercings, and she looks like she's into some kinky shit. He's probably having a ball."

"Candy Rue?"

"That's it. Do you know her?"

(To be continued)