The 'Give Up Yet?' Game ShowbyMr Arbagast©
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.
As the clock reaches five minutes he can hold back no longer; against her fingertips she feels the rush of come surging up his column, shortly before his jizm explodes into the air in spectacular fashion.
Still there is no respite for Debbie: a fresh hunk appears in front of her. Deftly she whips off his g-string to reveal a real beauty of a cock. For some reason she hesitates before tackling this unusually large specimen, bigger than any she has come across in her (admittedly limited) experience. But, steeling herself, she seizes his tool in both hands, and is soon wanking vigorously and ignoring the aching in her wrists.
She edges closer, almost as if she is offering up her face for him to come over. But in reality Debbie is wary, alert for signs of his impending orgasm – she doesn’t want a spunk shampoo. She glances up and her gaze meets his. Their eyes lock. Unflinchingly she holds his stare as her hands continue their work; yet still the man won't concede.
Eventually time runs out, and a moan of disappointment accompanies the final buzzer. Realising that she has failed, Debbie slumps dejectedly in front of the man, letting go of his erection. Big mistake.
Without any warning the first stream of hot jizm hits her square between the eyes and, as her mouth drops open in shock, his second spurt scores a bullseye right between her parted lips. Debbie recoils as his pungent flavour assaults her taste buds, allowing the third and fourth spurts to spatter over her t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms, completing her humiliation.
The episode is all over in seconds, but it is promptly replayed in slow motion on all the TV monitors. Once again, the man’s prick twitches; white streaks arc through the air; gobs of cream spatter the girl’s clean features; her expression as she tastes him speaks volumes. The other teams look on in horror, knowing it will be one of them up on those screens in a few minutes’ time.
The waiting G.U.Y. guys burst out laughing at Debbie’s humiliation. Through eyes stinging with salty fluid, she sees her tormentor give her a parting look that says: ‘I know you’ve tasted my cum, how do you like it?’
The spunk-spattered girl has no comeback. As she rejoins her team, the milky fluid splashed across her face cannot disguise her reddening visage.
"A splendid effort there from Deborah, putting Southampton back in the lead!" enthuses the compere, "But I'm afraid she didn’t complete that last man within the ten minutes allowed, which means it’s still close at the top of the score table! So, without further ado, can we have the Durham University team please?”
The bewildered Southampton girls are led back to Studio 1, and a wary-looking Durham team are escorted in.
“OK Durham, don’t look so worried! Let’s find out who gets the chance to snatch that lead back from Southampton!”
As he slowly selects a card from the hat, the four girls shift uneasily, aware that, now that one team has picked up the gauntlet, they cannot easily back out.
“And the lucky lady is … Emma Howarth!” Three of the girls turn to look at a busty 21-year-old blonde on the end, whose jaw drops.
“Well, Emma, you need to produce at least three satisfied customers if you want to overtake Southampton. Do you accept the challenge?” he says, gesturing towards the hunks.
Emma knows she has no choice. Taking a deep breath, she walks over to the booth at the head of the line of semi-naked men; her eyes flicker over their bare bodies.
“Good for you, Emma! Well now, your team came first in the previous round; let’s see if you cope as well with the really big maggots!” jokes the compere, prompting a shudder from the girl, while the audience roar.
“Do you understand the rules of the game? GOOD! -In that case, you have ten minutes to get these boys spunking – GO!”
Dropping to her knees before the first hunk, Emma hooks her fingers inside the string of his pouch. She removes the thong to reveal her first course: a generous portion of throbbing man-meat. Then, steeling herself, she begins to wank his stiff member.
Emma is merciless in her masturbation, but despite her best efforts it is over two minutes before she starts to see the man’s equilibrium dissolving. When it finally happens, though, it still takes her by surprise: his cock almost twitches out of her grasp as he lets fly, narrowly missing her nose.
Man number two proves a tougher challenge; her frantic wanking fails to weaken his resistance, and precious time is slipping away. In response Emma moves closer, using both hands, her anxious face only inches from his massive erection. At the five-minute mark he still shows no signs of giving in. Her friends can barely contain their frustration, straining forward, willing her to do something, anything to get back in the game. The tension in the studio is mounting; all eyes are focussed on the girl. Then someone says it.
“Why don't you suck him?” blurts out a woman in the audience.
Several of the waiting hunks loudly voice their agreement, and start up a chant of “Suck! Suck! Suck!” Soon it begins to catch on among the studio audience. Emma does her best to ignore it:
“SUCK! SUCK! SUCK!”
Another half-minute slips by, and still the man is holding out. The chanting increases in volume:
“SUCK! SUCK! SUCK!”
Six minutes gone, and now everyone in the room is echoing the cry. Emma is shocked to see even some of her own teammates joining in.
“SUCK! SUCK! SUCK!”
The noise is like a physical pressure bearing down on the young girl, and Emma’s resolve begins to weaken. Finally, as if in a trance, she finds herself leaning forwards, lining up his fleshy pole, opening her mouth. The chanting is rapidly replaced by wild cheering.
Staring straight ahead, she drops her trembling lips over his dark pink crown. The man sucks in breath as the girl’s soft, wet mouth closes around his engorged tip. Bracing herself, she drops her head again, and another inch of his quivering stiffness disappears up between her lips. Her tongue rolls over his fat bulb.
Slowly she slides her mouth down his steel-hard length, then up again, all the time nervously observing the man’s reaction, alert for any danger signs. The whole situation seems bizarre and unreal to Emma; after volunteering six months ago for an “exciting” new game show, she is now appearing on TV with a complete stranger’s rampant willy in her gob!!
On reaching his knob once more, she stops and pauses, breathing tremulously. The man’s expression is unreadable; surely he must be close to coming by now? She places a hand on his hip to steady herself as she begins another slow descent.
Suddenly the audience see Emma pull back; the overstretched shaft, glistening with saliva, pops from her mouth, a split-second before it unleashes a sticky fountain of come, spraying all over the girl’s clothing.
Emma is aghast as spurt after spurt of thick creamy come spatters over her t-shirted front. Unfortunately, bra’s are not part of the uniform issued to the contestants, and the deluge quickly turns the white cotton opaque, gluing it to the contours of her breasts. She looks down in horror: her pink tits are plainly visible through the translucent material. She might as well be topless!! But before she can dwell on this unwelcome development, a sudden shout from her team-mate brings her round.
"Fucking Hell!!" exclaims one of Emma’s friends.
Looking up to see what has provoked such an outburst, she comes face to face with the next man's member - a brutal eight-inch monster of a cock that has burst free of its skimpy thong and now hovers, menacingly, level with her nose. She gazes up to see its owner - a powerfully built, bronzed hunk - grinning down at her.
As the chant of “Suck! Suck! Suck!” starts up again, Emma realises the stakes have been raised. For a moment she looks uncertain; then, to whoops from the crowd, she pulls his thick root deep into her mouth.
Soon her little head is bobbing frantically back and forth, covering every inch of cock, her cum-drenched boobs jiggling in accompaniment. As she gets more and more into her stride, she grabs hold of his buttocks, digging her nails into his firm bum cheeks while she goes to town on his pork sword. But still the man is unmoved.
Eventually Emma has her lips stretched wide around the base of his cock, her pretty nose bumping his muscly stomach, his tip nudging the back of her throat. Unfortunately for Emma, this is the precise moment he chooses to let go.
There’s absolutely no warning as his colossal shaft suddenly bucks hard against the roof of her mouth and erupts. It’s all so quick, even her cry of surprise goes unfinished, abruptly cut off by his first thick wad cannoning into the back of her throat. Reflexively she swallows, taking his spunk down to her stomach before she even knows she’s done it. Attempting to disengage as speedily as possible she stumbles backwards, landing on her fleshy bottom; but the bronzed man steps forwards with her, keeping his spurting tool lodged between her lips for vital seconds longer. Her friends gasp in unison as extra helpings of jizm wallop down her throat in quick succession.
Finally she disengages - but now some of his stuff has gone down the wrong way, sending the girl into a coughing fit. The man's milky spunk flies out of her mouth and nose. In the middle of it all, the buzzer sounds.
No sooner has she regained her composure, than someone in the control room punches the slow-motion replay button and everybody gets to enjoy Emma’s debasement all over again in detail - including Emma herself. The opening image shows her fully engaged, devouring the man’s monster penis down to the root. Then her eyes widen as his shaft suddenly jumps, shooting hot cum up between her lips. Her throat bulges as she inadvertently sucks down his first spurt. The rest Emma cannot bear to watch, turning her face away.
“What a great sport, eh folks?” exclaims the host, “Let's hear it for Emma!”
Thunderous applause rises from the audience as the bedraggled girl picks herself up off the floor, her sticky tits wobbling unsteadily. Emma looks shell-shocked from her experience, but she has given her university a convincing lead - and given all the remaining hunks raging hard-ons, ready and waiting for the final contestant!
“And Emma’s brave effort catapults Durham into the lead!! Can they still be overtaken? Let’s bring on the Bristol girls and find out!”
The last gang of students is ushered in to the studio. “Well then, Bristolians! Let’s find out who gets the honour of representing you…”
They fall silent as he makes the draw. Tongues flick over dry lips.
“... so come on down, NICOLA FULLBROOK!”
The cameras home in on an attractive redhead of barely 18, whose eyes widen in alarm. In the background, her three teammates’ faces betray their personal relief. As the compere encourages her forward, a low murmuring rises from the audience; everyone is beginning to suspect that this girl is in for an even more shocking ordeal than her predecessors.
Her team cheer her on as she walks over to the cubicle, but the redhead’s expression remains fixed; she is controlling her breathing, clearing her mind ready for the task ahead. The long line of muscular studs smile wickedly at her, knowing there is no way on earth she can back out of doing this.
“Well, in order to win, Nicola must score a hit with eight guys, but with most of them on a hair trigger, that’s not as hard as it looks - unlike the boys’ pricks!!” quips the grinning host, getting a cheap laugh from audience.
The girl smiles along with the laughter, but inside nerves are eating away at her. The image of the last contestant coughing up spunk plays over and over in her mind: she is determined not to end up like that, gagging on a strange man’s cum. However, she is well aware that her team is trailing badly, and she will have to do something spectacular to win. In desperation, she has come up with a radical scheme that might just pinch a victory – if she has the courage to go through with it.