The Mating Game Ch. 01

Author's note: this is an introductory chapter, with some humiliation but not much actual sex. That'll happen in later chapters.

All characters are over 18. Comments welcome, as always.

The Mating Game

Chapter 1

"Hi," he said. "I'm Paul, and I want to watch you fuck my wife in all three holes."

(One week earlier)

The first part of the audition had been simple and only mildly humiliating. Five couples at a time were paraded before the judges naked, turning around to give profiles and back shots, then reciting their one line: "Please may I worship your ass?" for a sound check. Women were instructed to bend over and spread to show off cunt and asshole; men were not required to have erections, though it was widely rumored that it helped, especially if you were a grower rather than a shower. No names necessary, at that stage, just a number worn like a price tag; the network promised that the video would not be broadcast and the recording would be destroyed after the sixty couples who made the cut were notified. Paul and Dianne received the email a week later informing them that they'd been selected, if they still wanted to appear in the show. They flew back to Vegas the next day.

"You can both keep your first names, if that's going to be easier for you," said the imposing woman at casting. "There aren't any Pauls in the list ahead of you, or any other Diannes this year. Or you can use pseudonyms, though we'll need them by eight a.m. tomorrow and we'll have to approve them. I presume you've watched the show before?"

They both nodded. Fucks for Bucks (often derided as Cucks for Bucks) had been Fuxtel's best-rating "reality" show since the network had gone online, especially in Bible belt states where people denied watching porn.

"Good. Then you probably know all this, but I'm legally obliged to go through it while we're being recorded just so there's no misunderstandings. The prize pool this year is 69 million, like last year. We no longer release the show on any other media, so there's no residuals. You sign on with the agency we nominate in case anyone wants to interview you -- we'll write your answers, you won't have to do anything - or cast you in a movie or have you open a sex club or anything like that, but we don't guarantee any work except for the winning couple. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

"Good. You've both signed statements that you've never been paid for any sort of sex work before. That had better be true: we don't care what you've done for fun, whether it's with men or women or both at once, but we don't do unpaid advertising. If you get far enough, you'll be competing with professionals -- some of them our former winners - but we pick them.

"This year, we're not planning any gay male sex. We tried that one year and our ratings tanked, we were nearly cancelled, so now we leave that up to the Jox Network. We shoot two episodes per week, with games on Wednesdays and Saturdays. The most important thing to remember is that to stay in the game, you'll both be having sex with strangers but not each other, though you will be expected to watch each other having sex and may have to comment on it. Sometimes this will be scripted, and you'd better follow the script, and sometimes you'll be asked to improvise.

"You'll be assigned sleeping partners every night, usually different ones. What you do in the bedrooms is up to you; you can turn off the cameras in the bedrooms by turning off the lights, but all rooms are monitored for sound, even the toilets. A good performance in the bedroom after hours can still be streamed, and may help when the audience at home gets to vote people in or out, so it really pays to be an exhibitionist as well as promiscuous.

"Men will be expected to perform on demand, and if you fail, you're out, no appeals. Mostly this will be done without any chemical assistance, though we may provide some in the later episodes for some of the more difficult challenges. Similarly, while we found out that double and triple pussy or anal penetration don't rate any more either, but double penetration is still one of the big events, so honey, you'd better be prepared for that."

Dianne nodded, her face a mask. She didn't enjoy anal; she agreed to it only on Paul's birthday given sufficient lube and marijuana. More recently, not even then.

"Gangbangs, bukkake, and ass to mouth are also still on the menu, of course," the woman continued, "and lesbian scenes, because most of our demographic is the traditional porn audience. Do you both understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. There'll be a live studio audience for some acts, but not for all of them. They'll get to vote people off the show occasionally, as will your competitors and the viewers at home. In many ways, this is like a lot of other reality shows, except that the payoff is bigger and no-one's died on camera."

Paul nodded. The popularity of Squid Game twenty years before had led to American game shows and reality TV becoming even more viciously competitive than before. Many of them had taken their cues from game shows suggested in Stephen King's The Running Man, with the underemployed risking death and disfigurement in the hope of winning a salaried job, health insurance, or a dignified funeral. American censors being much more squeamish about sex than about violence, it had taken Fuxtel several years to get approval to get approval to shoot So You Think You Can Fuck?, American Fuckdoll and Fucks for Bucks in Nevada rather than furtively in Tijuana.

"So, if you'll sign those contracts, one of the staff will show you around. There'll be dinner and a mixer tonight, and you both can sleep in the same room - for the last time, until you finish in the game and leave the building. It'll also be your last chance to wear any clothes that we don't choose for you, which in most cases, will be none. You're on the second shift for breakfast, and you'll each be assigned a time to show up at make-up. Shower first, and don't be late."

***

The MC, Kyle, wore a Brooks Brothers suit, Bruno Magli shoes, and an unconvincing dye job. He wandered around the sound stage with a mic in his left hand so he could use the right to grope women's boobs. "We only have four cameras, so we're only filming ten couples at a time, so that's six shifts today. Dudes, on the other side of the room, just as a warm-up, I want you to go around, introduce yourselves to each other, and say 'I want to watch you fuck my wife in all three holes.' You got that?"

"What if I don't have a wife?" asked one of the younger men.

"Then say 'slut' instead of 'wife'," said Kyle, fondling the enormous dark brown breast of a plump woman in her thirties. "You think you can remember that? Cool. While the guys are doing that, ladies, grab a partner -- another woman -- and make out with her. Make it as hot and heavy as you like, scissoring, 69ing, whatever, because it's not just for you and studio audience and the viewers at home, it's for your men. You'll see why later. Okay, are we ready?" The floor manager gave him the thumbs up. "Right. Let's go."

Paul hesitated, then turned to the young man on his left and said dully, "Hi, I'm Paul, and I want to watch you fuck my wife in all three holes." He was embarrassed to realize his cock was already beginning to stiffen.

"Hi," came the reply, with a strong Texan twang. "I'm Ethan, and I want to watch you fuck my girl -- I mean, my slut, in all three holes."

"Oh, come on!" Kyle shouted from the other side of the room. "You're not fucking robots! Say it like you mean it!"

The live audience laughed, and Paul gritted his teeth; he was sure the MC couldn't have heard him, but he felt attacked anyway. He turned around, and noticed that the next nearest man was black and built like a quarterback. He tried not to look at the man's cock, but couldn't help noticing that it was huge. He put on a fake grin, walked up to him, and boomed, "Hi, I'm Paul, and I want to watch you fuck my wife in all three holes."

The man didn't smile back. "Hi, I'm Noah," he replied politely, "and I want to watch you fuck my wife in all three holes." He looked past him to the plump woman whose huge pendulous breasts had been groped by Kyle and were now being sucked by a cute redhead with a butterfly tramp stamp.

Paul nodded, and went left while Noah went right. It took him a few minutes to talk to all of the other male contestants; most were trying to hide their embarrassment, though a few sounded sincere, even enthusiastic. When everyone had done the rounds, they turned to face Kyle.

"Right," he said, "now that you've all got to know each other, men, form a line against the back wall. Ladies, keep doing what you're doing until you hear the bell. When you do, grab a tape measure from the box here and go and measure the cock of a man who isn't your partner.

"Dudes, you're probably going to want to have a hard-on, because anybody whose cock is less than five inches long when it's measured is out of the game, and maybe your partner too. Feel free to wank while you wait, but not to come unless you can stay hard. Everybody clear on that?"

Paul nodded, and concentrated on the exhibition the women were putting on: some of them apparently for their men's benefit, while others seemed to be enjoying the sex so much that they were oblivious to the surroundings. The redhead was joined by another couple, one of whom started sucking the dark-skinned woman's other breast while the other began licking her cunt. Some women were 69ing, six had formed a daisy chain, one was being rimmed and fingered, another dovefucked, and Dianne was flat on her back with a tiny Asian woman sucking her breasts and rubbing her thigh against her cunt. Paul wasn't sure how long he spent staring at them -- his best guess was somewhere between ten minutes and half an hour -- but his cock remained hard the whole time. Finally, he heard a bell ring, and just over half of the women stopped what they were doing, "Right," said Kyle, "I hate to interrupt --"

"Then don't!" shouted the woman who was being rimmed.

The MC chuckled. "Sorry, there's ten other couples waiting for the studio space. Time to grab those tape measures and pick a man to see whether he measures up. If his dick is five inches long or more, yell out the measurement to the nearest half inch: five inch cock, six and a half inch cock, and so on. If it's less than five inches, it's not a cock, it's a clit, so yell out four inch clitty. Everybody clear on that?"

There was some wordless grumbling, but the women obeyed. Paul looked down at his erection, then at the muscular woman with a blonde flattop walking purposefully towards him, then turned his head as he heard Dianne yell, "Eight inch cock!"

"Five and a quarter inch cock!" came another call, as the blonde grabbed Paul's dick.

"Three inch clitty!" said one woman.

"Six and half inch cock!"

"Seven inch cock!"

"Six and -- oh, yuck!" the redhead squealed as a red-faced nineteen year old ejaculated over her hands and chin.

"Clean-up on aisle four!" said Kyle, chuckling, as one of the cameramen ran over to get a close-up.

"Does pre-cum count?" asked the blonde.

"Not if he's still hard," the MC replied.

"Six and a half inch cock!" the blonde yelled, then straightened up. "Not bad," she said, softly.

"Thanks," Paul said awkwardly as she turned away, giving him a look at her rock-hard ass.

"Right," he MC yelled, when the last measurements had been called out. "Premature ejaculator and clitties step forward, please, and their partners too."

Three men shuffled forwards, the nineteen-year-old being careful to step around the puddle of cum he'd left on the floor. They were joined by the muscular blonde and two other women, one a heavily tattooed teenager, the other in her fifties. Kyle grinned at the men nastily, saying, "Well, fellas, this is the end of the line for you -- appropriately, a very short line."

"It was the cameras," the oldest of the men began.

"If I wanted to hear excuses, I'd have become a schoolteacher," said Kyle, cutting him off. "But the women can get a second chance. If our studio audience votes for you to stay, you can stay."

The oldest of the women shook her head, and grabbed her husband's arm. The girl with the tattoos looked at her red-faced boyfriend, clearly undecided. "Who do I have to fuck?" asked the blonde.

"I like the way you think, and you don't have to fuck anyone just yet. All you have to do is give one of the dudes in the front row a lap dance."

The blonde looked at her partner unsympathetically, then at the audience. "Do I get to pick?"

"Sure." Kyle turned to the eighteen-year-old. "What about you?"

The girl bit her lip. "No," she said, almost inaudibly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, give the losers a hand -- considering how their men's shortcomings, they'll probably need one. But you don't leave empty-handed: you can keep the tape measure!"

There was some laughter, but not a lot: Paul suspected more would be added in in post-production before it went to air. Kyle looked the blonde up and down, and shrugged. "Well?"

She nodded, and walked over to a young man in the middle of the front row as two of the cameramen followed her. He audibly gasped when she rubbed her C-cup tits over his face, and after motorboating them for a minute, opened his mouth to suck on one. The sound system began playing 'Private Dancer', and she muttered, "Private, my ass," as she spread the man's legs apart and rubbed her bare leg up and down his crotch, straddling his thigh with her wet cunt sliding up and down the denim. His hands crept around to her back and down to her ass, holding her tightly enough to leave the imprints of his fingers on her butt. One of the cameras zoomed in as he parted her cheeks and inching a fingertip towards the crack until he found her asshole and began probing it. She gritted her teeth as his dry finger slid in to the second joint, then crooned, "So, you like asses?" She turned around and grabbed his hands, placing them on her boobs as she rubbed her butt over his groin until he came in his pants as Tina Turner moaned "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah". She spun around to face him again, and said sweetly, "You got a girlfriend, kid?"

"Uh... no."

"Do you want one?"

"Yeah, sure!"

"Then cut your fucking nails!" The laughter from the audience was much louder than this time, largely because more of the women joined in.

"Okay," said Kyle, when the laughter and applause had died down, "Should she go or should she stay?" A majority of the hands shot up, and he nodded. "Looks like you're staying. We'll be back in a minute with our next batch of contestants." He looked around for the floor manager, who gave him a thumbs up. "Right, I need a clean-up crew. Contestants, out through that door, hit the showers or whatever. Audience, you've got twenty minutes before we're back on. Somebody get me a drink."

***

Fucks for Bucks was recorded in a converted convention hotel, and had kept the health club running for contestants. Paul wrapped a towel around his waist after leaving the shower, oddly pleased to not be completely naked; it felt good to be able to sit down without wondering whose bare ass had sat in the same spot previously. He walked to the sauna and was startled to see the muscular blonde was already there, sitting alone on the highest bench. He considered backing out, but she nodded at him. "Hi."

Awkwardly, he sat on a lower bench opposite her. "Hi."

"You can keep the towel on; I recognize your face. But I didn't catch your name."

"Paul."

"Gudrun." She flicked a drop of sweat from one nipple, and they sat there in painful silence for a few minutes.

"I'm sorry about your partner," he said, finally. "What happens now?"

"You don't watch the show?"

"Not religiously."

"But you wanted the money?"

"Don't we all?"

"Most people? Not badly enough for this. My subby hubby... when they finish the last round today, he and the other failures will get dressed, do the walk of shame to the limo as the crowd outside jeers, get driven to the Travelodge and wait for a flight home. Lucky for him, he gets off on humiliation. We'd hoped the game today would be enough to get him hard for long enough, but... so it goes."

"Sorry. But I meant, what happens to you? I thought you had to be in a couple to win."

"Yeah, but it doesn't have to be my husband: I have time to try to poach somebody else's. And it doesn't even have to be a man."

"Oh."

"If they think they have too many women, there are games that'll take care of that, just as if they have too many men. But it doesn't get really serious until they're down to about twenty people, enough to all be on stage at once. That's when the big bets get placed." She yawned. "Last round should be finishing soon, then the bed allocations will go up. I'm going to grab another shower and head over to the games room." She stood, picked up the towel she'd been using as a cushion and draped it over her shoulder, and walked towards the door. "Nice to really meet you, Paul."

"You too."

"Maybe I'll fuck you later. Or your wife. Maybe both."