The Moment of Ruth - Reloaded

I've been meaning to give this one a rewrite for some time; the basic plot is unchanged but the first weird 'game' has been substituted by a simple game with a new forfeit. Please note that all characters involved in the following story are over eighteen. Also note that this is a work of fiction, not based on any real persons or places, and certainly not intended to excuse acts of non-consensual sex under any circumstances. Do not read on if you are likely to be offended by explicit material. Copyright© 2016 ArbagastLives.

(from News Nightly, 15^th August:) HAS TELEVISION FINALLY GONE TOO FAR? Uproar over 'indecent and outrageous' broadcast on 'The Moment of Truth'

Viewers' organisations across the US are up in arms over what's been described as a "gross obscenity" on top-rated cable game show The Moment Of Truth. The incident occurred during the live broadcast of a round known as Spit or Swallow, where players from competing teams are challenged to eat bowlfuls of nightmarish concoctions in an attempt to boost their prize money.

"People's reactions when they discover what they have to eat can be hysterical!" commented Janice Wolcjinski, webmaster of the show's fan site; "It's invariably the highlight of the show."

In previous episodes, the menu featured such delicacies as boiled worms and puréed pig's testicles. But for the season finalé, things went a step further -- many would say, a step too far!

The result, shown live on Saturday night, proved so controversial that transmission was actually halted for several minutes. However, this didn't stop hundreds of people in the studio audience from seeing the stomach-churning showdown between Furfield and Greenvale colleges first hand. And some of them were decidedly unimpressed, including eyewitness Jane Wyvenshaw, who told us:

"The Spit or Swallow game was simply disgusting. Sure, everyone guessed there'd be something special on the menu for the final show. But when that football team marched up on stage and got their wedding tackle out, the whole thing descended into farce; I mean, just who did they think they were fooling? That 'contestant' was so obviously an actress -- her reaction, when they revealed her challenge, was so ludicrously over the top! C'mon, you'd never get a member of the public to take part in something like that on national television."

And the storm of controversy shows no sign of abating, with many branding the show "a sordid spectacle" and the participants "utterly shameless". Indeed, the girl at the centre of the row -- 19-year-old Ruth Chokier from Furfield, Connecticut -- became the target of so much criticism that even her opponents, including Greenvale captain Chloe Scuttari, felt moved to defend her:

"People are very quick to pass judgement," declared Chloe yesterday, "But unless you've actually been in that situation, stuck under the spotlights while the crowd are going nuts, you can't imagine what it's like. Anyway, after what we'd all been through already, we'd have done anything to win that prize money -- literally, anything!"

Chloe's assertion would seem to be borne out by events. And many have paid tribute to Ruth's coolness under fire, including usher Melissa Fearnbush, who recalled:

"I did find the 'Spit or Swallow' round hard to watch, but I saw enough to tell it wasn't faked. When Ruth squared up to that football team, we realised we were watching the ultimate contest -- just one young babe versus eleven beefy men! She seemed determined to take anything the guys could dish out, but would it simply be too much for her? Would she choke? That was the question on everyone's lips."

Amber, Furfield's team captain, was also quick to praise her player:

"As a last-minute replacement, Ruth had been a bit of an unknown quantity. But she impressed with her desire to succeed, despite being handed a real stinker of a challenge. Once Ruth got her head around it, everything went down really smoothly. It really stuck to her gums -- I mean, she really stuck to her guns, and proved to everyone that she had the stomach to finish the job."

Alas, the plucky teenager's efforts were not enough to carry Furfield through to the final round; but she certainly earned herself a place in broadcasting history. So, what's the truth about Ruth? Girl-next-door or secret call girl? Victim or vixen? To assess all the evidence, News Nightly has managed to acquire unedited footage of Saturday's broadcast, and our media correspondent's been hard at work reviewing the tapes...

* * * *

Beads of sweat fly from the teenager's brow as she falls and rises rapidly, panting with exertion, her features strained with concentration. The spectators are restive, an undercurrent of anxious murmuring accompanying the young woman's wild ride, punctuated now and again by louder shouts of encouragement from her band of home supporters. They know just how high the stakes are; huge sums of money might be won or lost in the next few seconds. It's clear Amber is summoning every ounce of strength she can muster for this challenge-- but that might not be enough. Everyone is willing her to keep going just a little longer.

Suddenly the variable speed control steps up another gear, prompting gasps from the crowd; the girl's ginger hair tosses this way and that as she's bounced around violently, too fast for the eye to follow. Her unfettered breasts are flying beneath the thin t-shirt, but there's nothing she can do to rein them in; it takes all of her concentration just to match the whirlwind pace of the ruthless machine between her legs. At the height of each buck her slender form leaves the saddle, tossed so high she doesn't land again until the mechanical bull is already rising to meet her, generating an audible smack as leather collides with flesh. It's obvious she can't keep this up for long; the breath is being dashed from her diminutive body. The only question is, can she make better time than the previous player?

That question is swiftly answered as the redhead's grip on the bar falters. Hurled brutally from the seat, she pitches head first onto the padded floor and the background music promptly cuts out, replaced by a disappointed groan from the crowd. Only the show's well-groomed presenter looks sanguine as he bounds back on stage to offer his sympathies.

"Let me help you there," says Jerry, holding the girl's arm; "Gosh, you took quite a pounding, Amber! How do you feel after that?"

The red-faced girl takes a moment to get her breath back; "Knackered!" she eventually manages; the audience laugh along, as Jerry sits her down gently on a nearby chrome chair.

"Well, as I said before, the pros reckon this is the most realistic mechanical bull ever designed, so you did really well to stay on so long!"

"Unluckily though, Erin just had the edge on you there. Bad luck, Amber!"

Having fulfilled his job of 'consoling' the losing competitor, Jerry appears not to notice the teenager is close to tears as he turns swiftly to face the crowd, beaming away:

"So, that means another fifty thousand dollars for the Greenvale team! Give them a big hand, everyone!"

On the huge overhead plasma screens, latest scores flash up: "$50,000 WIN!!" appear on Greenvale's board, before combining with their existing total to make a respectable one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

For Furfield, the news is less good. "Well, Amber, I'm afraid it's decision time," Jerry says, turning back to the crestfallen redhead, "Either Furfield's winnings go right down to zero, OR... you can take your chances by riding the 'Wheel of Forfeits'. What's it to be?"

It's no choice at all, as Jerry well knows. Furfield's string of hard-won victories have banked them a mouth-watering three hundred and fifty thousand dollars; there's no way Amber's team mates would let her throw it all away now. She'll have to take her punishment.

"Uh -- I'll ride the Wheel, Jerry," she mumbles, barely able to look him in the eye. The thought of what might be in store weighs heavily on her mind.

The audience, of course, fully approve of her decision, as does Jerry: "Good sport, Amber! Well then, Luiza, let's have a look at some of the options we've got on the wheel tonight!"

Jerry's glamorous assistant sways into view; a buxom Hispanic lady in her late twenties, tonight she's stunning in a bright pink strapless bandage dress. She winks and pulls a chord to part the set of curtains on the right of the stage, revealing the 'Wheel of Forfeits'. The wheel's been looming in the corner throughout the show, an intimidating presence for every competitor. Unveiled, it's even scarier: each of the two-dozen segments bears a seemingly innocuous label, a glib-sounding euphemism for a punishment that's sure to be uncomfortable or embarrassing -- or both!

"Hmmm... any of those take your fancy, Amber? Or maybe one you'd like to avoid!?"

The girl shakes her head and smiles weakly; she knows it's hopeless even trying to guess what most of those cryptic phrases might mean. A couple are familiar from previous shows -- 'Demon Barber' and 'Plunge Pool' -- but the rest are a mystery.

"Well then, if you'd be so kind Luiza, could you spin that wheel!"

The assistant places her manicured hand on the edge of the prop and grins. She knows of course that it's completely rigged: tonight's forfeit was decided well in advance, the only unknown being which poor sucker would get the short straw. But Luiza recognises that, in Amber, they've found the perfect 'victim'. Beaming widely, she gives the wheel a good, hard shove.

To Amber it seems that the wheel is rotating for an eternity, only very gradually losing its momentum. There's not a whisper in the studio as it slows to a crawl. Nothing but the unbearable click, click, click of the spokes. Finally it stops.

'PAINTED LADY' is the result.

"Oooh, painted lady... d'you know, I really can't remember what that was?" Jerry bluffs, tormenting his guest. "But I'm sure Luiza will take good care of you! We'll drop in later to see how you're getting on!"

While his assistant escorts the unfortunate girl through a side door, Jerry gives her a fitting send-off. "What a great sport! Let's hear it for Amber!" he crows, leading the applause.

As soon as door's closed Jerry turns back to the audience, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper: "Well this is one forfeit Amber won't forget in a hurry! The man she's about to meet is a legend in his profession; he usually goes by the name 'El Diablo', and he is Mexico City's most celebrated TATTOO ARTIST!

The overhead plasma screens cut away from the studio live feed, showing instead a small whitewashed box room somewhere in the television complex. A couple of 'heavies' from site security lurk in the corridor behind. The grainy image from a CCTV camera shows a low trolly next to a workbench cluttered with equipment; the room's only occupant is an overweight, lank-haired man in grubby jeans and armless t-shirt, his brawny arms liberally adorned with dark tattoos. Pictures on the walls exhibit equally lavish examples of full body-art.

On yet another screen, Amber is being escorted into a similarly tiny chamber, rather like a changing room. One camera zooms in on a cheap pine chair in one corner; at first it's hard to tell what this is meant to show but, on closer inspection, a poppy-red bikini can be seen hanging over the chair back. It's so skimpy it's barely visible: the top comprises two tiny triangular scraps of cloth linked by thin straps, while the bottom is of the 'chip thong' variety, barely sufficient to conceal a woman's private parts. There can be little doubt who it's intended for.

"Yep, you've guessed it," Jerry nods, "Amber is destined to become the canvas for one of El Diablo's magnificent creations! For now, we'll leave the maestro to concentrate on his work, but rest assured, we'll be back at the end of the show for the great unveiling! I can't wait to see what Amber thinks of her makeover, can you?"

* * * *

(GAME 2 -- AS PREVIOUS.)

Amber's departure leaves Furfield with one remaining player. Ruth is a petite, dark-haired girl, who only found out she was competing a week ago when her college needed a last-minute replacement. But now, suddenly, everyone is counting on her to carry Furfield to victory. Just two wins separate Ruth from a cool half a million dollars: first she must emerge as the victor from this round, and then she'll have to triumph in the dreaded 'Seven-Minute Challenge' in the grand final. Fail, however, and it's all over -- she is her team's last hope.

Professional as ever, the host is keen to move proceedings along. "Well Ruth, I guess it's all down to you now, huh?" he chuckles, putting a friendly arm round the diminutive girl's shoulder: "All we need is to pick a Greenvale player for you to compete against!" Jerry continues, " Erin and Summer, if you'd like to step into the randomizer, please?"

Set into the side wall of the studio set stand a row of tall, egg-shaped chambers. The two Greenvale girls approach hesitantly, occupying two of the chambers; plexiglass doors slide shut, the lights dim, and the girls are alternately darkened and lit with brilliant colours while mysterious synthesiser music burbles in the background. While trying to look nonchalant, both contestants are secretly praying their team-mate gets picked instead!

The music builds to a crescendo; and dazzling white light illuminates the right-hand cubicle. A choice has been made. The disembodied voice of 'Hattie', the series' robot-like announcer, proclaims the result:

"To represent Greenvale... Summer!"

One set of doors slide open and a fair-skinned blonde peers nervously out.

"Great - if you could just join us here, Summer?" exclaims Jerry, "Erin, we'll catch up with you later!"

Summer can't believe it; this is the third game she's been picked for, while her Greenvale team-mates have only done one each! Resentfully she glances back towards the other darkened chamber, but the deep shadows conceal the relief on her team-mate's face as she exits a second set of sliding doors in the rear of the cubicle, off to the soundproof waiting room where all uninvolved players go to watch proceedings. Once again, Summer will have to confront and conquer her fears alone.

A beaming Jerry beckons her over, then turns back to the audience: "Ok, time for our penultimate game!" He tilts his head up towards the ceiling: "What have you got for us, Hattie?"

Once again Hattie's dispassionate, anodyne tones echo around the studio, delivering the bad news:

"The game is... Spit or Swallow!"

Spit or Swallow -- the one they'd all dreaded! For the girls, the announcement comes like a physical blow. But they know they'll just have to knuckle down if they're to have any chance of collecting their winnings. Ruth is especially determined not to let her team down; she hasn't come 800 miles only to bag out now!

"Thank you, Hattie!" the host continues, not missing a beat, "Ladies, if you could take your places please?"

He gestures towards a low worktop where two chairs have just been wheeled out. Ruth and Summer take their respective seats; this is serious business now -- a potentially life-changing sum of money is up for grabs.

"Ok, for anyone not familiar with this game, it's very simple. Each contestant has to eat their meal as fast as possible, quickest time wins $50,000! As usual though, we'll be saying goodbye to the runner up..."

While Jerry is waffling away, distracting the audience, Ruth becomes aware that Summer's trying to get her attention. Suddenly the blonde whispers something:

"Ruth, c'mon, you can't win both games by yourself... just throw this round 'n' we'll split the winnings, what d'ya say? Just tell 'em you can't do it!"

Ruth is outraged! How can this bitch have the brass neck to try something like this mid-show? Could it be just a ploy to psych her out? Whatever the case, Ruth's reply is unequivocal:

"No fucking way!" she hisses back, eyes burning with indignation, hoping that nobody in the audience can read lips. Suddenly she's filled with a renewed determination to win, not just for the prestige of her college, but to teach that Greenvale slut a lesson.

Jerry has everything almost ready now:

"And to prepare your dishes, please welcome our 'Chefs du Jour', Harry and Luiza!"

An impromptu ripple of applause echoes round the studio as, dressed in chefs whites, Jerry's two assistants appear wheeling a serving trolley, which they position in front of the bench.

"As always, speed is of the essence here -- first player to finish is the winner. Greenvale won the last game, so Summer, you get to go first!"

From the serving trolley, 'chef' Luiza produces various kitchen items: tortilla bread, a pot of low-cal mayonnaise, cutlery. Her co-presenter is a healthily tanned man in his thirties who stands before Summer's desk, cleaning his hands ready to prepare her dish. A large box veiled with a dishcloth stands ominously to one side.

Summer is already feeling a little ragged; She prays the producers will go easy on her, but . But in her heart she doubts it.

And Summer's right to be nervous. The researchers have done their homework: in the internet age when personal information is up for grabs, the task of uncovering Summer's deepest, darkest fears was child's play. Now they're ready to exploit that knowledge to the full. Cameras focus on the blonde, poised to capture her expression as Luiza whips the cover off the mysterious box.

Sure enough, a wail of pure dread emits from the younger woman's throat. Inside the container are hundreds of spiders. Some are thumbnail-sized, others hideous, fat, long-legged beasts almost five inches across, and all are clambering over each other, scrabbling at the smooth sides of the box in an effort to escape.

Summer is absolutely petrified of spiders. The ashen-faced girl cannot remove her wide, terror-filled eyes from that box, even as she pushes herself back into the black leather chair, knuckles gripping the cold, chrome arms, head shaking slowly back and forth as if to deny what's happening. Going by her expression it seems possible she might run screaming from the building at any moment. It's only the greater fear of letting her friends down that keeps her glued in that chair.

Apparently unmoved by the girl's reaction, Harry takes a thin tortilla wrap from the trolley and places it before Summer, spreading a base of mayonnaise across its surface. His fellow 'chef' then picks up the dreaded box and tips it onto one corner, provoking the spiders into an even greater frenzy. Hundreds of spiny legs flail desperately as their world is upended. Then Luiza does it - she tilts the box over and a stream of wriggling spiders pour out.

Some become glued to the sticky mayo immediately, forming a thick mess. Others begin to scatter, but with deft handwork Harry flips over the edge of the wrap, deftly folding both ends together, imprisoning most of the spiders before they can escape, and completes the preparation by rolling it over and over. A low whinny escapes Summer's throat: one particularly large spider has managed to scramble free and, trailing mayonnaise, is making its way across the table towards her. With lightning reactions, Luiza fields the beast. Then she squashes it into the end of the tortilla.

"Oh, well caught Luiza!" The host beams enthusiastically while the 10-inch long wrap is laid on a plate and placed before the girl; "So then Summer, your dish is a delicious arachnid wrap! No more talk, your countdown begins now!"