The Moment of Ruth - Reloaded

The director clicks back to the floor manager's ear mike: "Karen, have we got 'Premature Burial' set to roll out? Great, let's go with that then. The randomizer's about to, ah, pick someone from the audience to go up against Greenvale."

Then Mike addresses the whole control room: "Right then, it's damage limitation time, people -- let's get back on the air and get this fucking thing over with!"

* * * *

While Mike struggles to take back control of the situation, above his head one screen continues to show the outgoing transmission: Amber's unending visit to the tattoo parlour. She's now lying prone on the workbench, allowing 'El Diablo' to complete her desecration. His needle roves widely and freely across her whole body; her bikini top is still AWOL, indeed, were it not for the slender string of the thong between her buttocks, the redhead would appear completely nude.

Nude, but not uncovered. Amber's entire back is filled with the most lurid scene imaginable: to the left of her spine is a full-length depiction of a nubile young woman viewed from behind, not a stitch of clothing obstructing the view of her alluring curves. But this veritable beauty is in the clutches of a subhuman monstrosity, a deformed lizard-demon whose clawed fingers dig into her lush backside as it copulates with her, clearly against her will. The creature is poised in a moment of climactic victory, head raised to the heavens, while its helpless victim turns her face away as if to deny what's happening, ashamed to look at the unspeakable thing that's spewing its foul seed into her wholesome young loins.

So far Amber's arms and legs remain untouched, but El Diablo already has plans for them. Once he's finished, Amber will be permanently transformed into a living monument to the tattooist's supreme creativity. Only then will she learn that her sacrifice has been for nothing: her team are destined never to see a cent of that prize money.

* * * *

(from News Nightly, 15^th August:)

... Ruth's narrow defeat the 'spit or swallow' round brought Furfield's challenge to a premature end, but naturally the show's organisers had a contingency plan for such an event.

Once transmission resumed, it was announced that a member of the audience would be given the chance to steal the $100,000 jackpot from under Greenvale's noses! That lucky individual, plucked at random from the crowd, was Charlotte Turendale from Boston.

And so the stage was set for the final showdown, Summer versus Charlotte, with the Greenvale girl set to walk off with a mouth-watering three hundred thousand dollars for her team, if she could beat the infamous 'Seven Minute Challenge'. As feared, it turned out to be a truly horrific ordeal: wearing only their underwear, both girls had to lie in sealed isolation pods which were then lowered into a 15-foot water tank beneath the stage -- although, cut off from the outside world, the pair were blissfully ignorant of this last detail. Their coffin-shaped prisons were fitted with low-light cameras and concealed microphones to allow viewers to follow their progress, and air pipes for ventilation. However, the girls' soon realised that these pipes served a dual purpose: once the clock started running, a procession of huge, sleek-bodied rats began arriving inside their cramped lodgings!

For Summer it completed an journey to hell, as she faced her three greatest fears - spiders, confined spaces and rats - in the space of one evening. Nevertheless, as the minutes ticked by and increasing numbers of rats joined the party, both competitors stoically endured their ordeal; indeed, it was only when water began seeping through cracks in the (supposedly airtight) containers that cracks also began showing in the girls' resolve.

The contestants' situation turned even grimmer as the rats reacted with panic to the rising water levels; desperate to escape, they turned savagely on each other, causing some measure of distress to the girls as their scantily-clad bodies became a battleground for hordes of sharp-clawed vermin.

Sadly, a technical fault in the studio meant that the last few seconds of the pair's trial went unrecorded. But it was clearly all too much for Summer, whose pitiful sobbing eventually escalating into full-blown screaming, effectively announcing her retirement from the contest. Both ladies were then freed, with the hysterical Greenvale girl receiving treatment for shock before heading home, where she is reported to be recovering well from her ordeal.

* * * *

And so it was that dark horse Charlotte Turendale, who just ten minutes earlier had been sitting blithely in the audience, was crowned MOT champion! We interviewed Charlotte a few days after recording, accompanied by her friend Belinda:

NN: "So, Charlotte, how does it feel to be the first woman ever to beat the Seven Minute Challenge?"

CT: "What can I say, it's absolutely amazing, especially since I only went along to watch the show! It's only just sinking in now that I've won -- to be honest, at the time I was just relieved to get out in one piece!"

NN: "Did you have any idea you might be involved in the contest that night?"

CT: "Oh God no, I was completely gobsmacked! When they first turned the Randomizer on the audience, I wasn't especially nervous: with four hundred people to pick from, what were the chances it would be me? Even when the spotlight flashed onto my chair, I just waited for it to move on. And then I realised: ALL the lights were on me, and they WEREN'T moving! At that moment, your blood just runs cold. But with everybody staring and waiting, what could I do? Seconds later I was stepping up on stage, applause ringing in my ears, still in a bit of a daze and wondering what on earth I was getting myself into. The prospect of winning a fortune wasn't foremost in my mind at that point, I can tell you!"

NN: "Understandable! But you must have been weighing up your chances against Summer?"

CT: "After watching Summer win three games, I knew she'd be tough opposition. But when she got picked the fourth time, I think her nerve went. She kept protesting about the unfairness of it all, until they showed her the coffins -- that shut her up! The look of pure dread on her face gave me hope; I realised then that she was beatable."

NN: "So how did you feel during the trial?"

CT: "It's difficult to describe just how terrifying the final head-to-head was. It was scary enough just being manacled in those coffins in our underwear, but when the lids slammed shut on us and all those bolts slid into place, you couldn't hear or see a thing. I honestly never guessed we were being lowered into a water tank under the stage!"

NN: "And then you realised you weren't the only occupants?"

CT: "Yes, the rats were a complete shock -- not my favourite animal! After a while my new home got quite crowded; and then the water started leaking in. It was freezing -- even my goose bumps had goose bumps! -- but at the time I just assumed it was all part of the game, I had no idea it was a fault in the equipment. Good job too, or I'd have completely freaked out! Later on, I heard they'd had a big debate in the control room about our safety, but decided to carry on because nobody wanted to spoil the show. Bastards!

"As if we didn't have enough problems, the rising water started soaking my underwear, and turning it see-through. With my wrists and ankles manacled, all I could do was lie there, trying not to think about the millions of viewers ogling my stiff nipples and nice dark bush over their nachos. As for Summer... well, having a Brazilian wax before the show probably wasn't the best idea, especially given her choice of underwear. Apparently, she'd thought plain cotton briefs would be less visible under any outfit. They were less visible alright -- practically INvisible when soaked through! Given the number of networks they sell that show to, I reckon Summer must have the most widely viewed pair of pussy lips on the planet by now!

"But there was worse to come. By now the rats were swarming all over me; though I couldn't see them, I could feel a hell of a lot of movement as they searched for an exit. Once they twigged there wasn't one, they all started scrambling for the high ground -- in other words, me! My whole body was a mass of greasy rodents; there must have been four camped out on my face and a dozen on my boobs, I could feel their claws hooked into my bra. But I was too scared to shake them off -- I soon discovered that every time I moved a muscle, I'd receive a couple of sharp warning nips! So I just kept as still as I could.

"Eventually the water began to wash over my lower body, and that's when the rats really started going berserk. Fights broke out all over the place; claws were scrabbling at my skin as they tried to climb up to the safety of my knees, my boobs, my head. TV can't really convey what that awful, high-pitched, ear-splitting squeaking was like in the confined space. My only consolation was that hopefully my opponent would be suffering even worse; in fact, I was amazed how long Summer stuck it out -- I guess a third of a million bucks is a big incentive!

"By now I had my eyes tight shut, but I could feel a major rat-fight in progress on my head. Suddenly something horrible spattered across my cheeks: I realised the bigger rat had just torn the other one in half and was sitting on my forehead, gnawing on the carcass while rat guts spilled over my face. I could even taste some of the blood in my mouth; how I kept my sanity in there, I'll never know!

NN: "So you still weren't really thinking about winning at this point?"

"To be honest I was just hanging on second by second, praying Summer cracked before I did; it became more about pride than about the money. Of course, the control room had no idea what was happening to us because their cameras and mikes had shorted out, but luckily Summer's screams were loud enough to be heard by everybody in the studio."

"The next thing I knew, the bolts were sliding open on my coffin door; it was the best sound I ever heard in my life! But there was one final joke on us, because we still hadn't twigged we were in the bottom of a huge great water tank. Imagine my shock when the door finally burst open, and all my remaining air shot fifteen feet straight upwards! Thanks, guys!"

"Seconds later I hit the surface, choking and spluttering. I was surrounded by dozens of rats: live ones, dead ones, and partly-devoured ones with their guts floating all around me. I immediately looked around for Summer, but she wasn't there; my heart sank, because I assumed she'd outlasted me. Actually though, we'd been released together, only somehow she'd managed to get her bra strap snagged on the door mechanism, so she was still underwater.

"Eventually Summer managed to wriggle out of her bra and surfaced, hysterical, half-drowned and virtually naked. All she had on was a pair of see-through panties to preserve any shreds of dignity she might have had left. But Summer was so confused by now, she wasn't even bothering to cover herself up; as they hauled her out of the tank I could see her skin was covered in livid red scratches where the rats'd tried to scramble to safety. Looking down, I realised my own body was in much the same state. Then a rowdy cheer from the male half of the audience made me look up again -- one cameraman had 'accidentally' got a frame-filling shot of Summer's shivering tits. Typical!"

Belinda: "Oh that was definitely the funniest moment of the night, Summer's boobs wobbling all over the place as she dashed across the studio to throw up her half-digested spider sandwich by the exits. Hah! Y'know, I'm not sure all that stuff Jerry spouts about "getting people to confront and conquer their fears" really applies in Summer's case!"

CT: "But hey, that's nothing to how sick Summer must've felt when they told her how close she'd come to winning. She'd been just three seconds from time when she snapped; a little longer, and Greenvale would've got half the prize money. I'll bet her buddies were livid when they realised!"

Belinda: "C'mon though Charlotte, Summer should be proud of her achievement. All the doodle polls say more lads whacked one off over Summer's bod last Saturday than any other TV show so far this year!

CT: "Oh yeah, I saw that too -- they reckon even more spunk got squirted over Summer's tits than disappeared down Ruth's throat!"

NN: "Speaking of Ruth, what was Charlotte's take on her 'moment of truth'?"

CT: "Well, I thought Ruth gave a really ballsy performance, taking on all comers the way she did. And I was as surprised as anyone when she stormed off set; I guess we'll never know her reasons. Maybe she'd just had a bellyful of TV stardom?"

NN: "Generous words -- but some pundits are saying it would be even more generous for Charlotte to share some of her winnings with the opposing players. What did she think of that idea?"

Belinda: "Anybody who reckons Charlotte didn't deserve her prize money needs to watch the show again -- it was sheer guts that got her through. 'N' don't forget, strictly speaking, Summer failed both challenges because she couldn't keep down her spider sandwich."

CT: "Well said, Belinda! Sure, I'll be sharing my good fortune with my family and friends, but the losers go home with nothing - that's the whole point. As for Ruth, well, surely a girl with her talents can make lots of money quite easily, if she needs to...!"

NN: "I hope you'll pardon my asking, but there's been lots of speculation over how you might have coped with Ruth's challenge?"

CT: "Gosh, what a question! I could never imagine doing it -- I mean, I'm just not that kind of girl! But I guess there's plenty of women out there, like Ruth, with a secret urge to try this kinky stuff. Under normal circumstances they'd worry what people might think; but when it's for TV, nobody's going to judge them, they're free to live out their fantasies; it's empowering, really."

NN: "Hmmm. Did that explain why, during the 'spit or swallow' round, Belinda and yourself could be seen standing in the audience leading a noisy chorus of "down in one"? Was your slow hand-clapping intended to 'empower' Ruth?"

CT: "Come ON, we're talking about a grown woman here. It was Ruth's decision to swallow -- I'm sure a bit of heckling didn't sway her one way or the other. You've got to shrug it off when people shout stuff -- like those neighbours who called her 'whore' and 'slut' in the street the other day -- I mean, what does she expect if she goes and swigs down half a pint of jock-chutney on Saturday night prime-time? At the end of the day, we all get what we deserve."

NN: "Can't argue with that! So what are your plans now?"

CT: "Oh, I think just I need to take stock before making any decision; y'know, after the show, all I wanted was go home and collapse. It took me a while to get into the celebratory mood... rocking now though!"

* * * *

As for Ruth, though she may be no richer for her brush with fame, her life has undeniably changed since becoming fixed in the national consciousness as "Spunky Little Ruth". Her name is now a byword for the girl-next-door whose squeaky-clean front conceals a lust-crazed alter-ego. Meanwhile, the footage of her antics has gone viral and is now a serious contender for 'most-watched sex act by a member of the public'.

But Ruth seems reluctant to cash in on her new-found fame. She refuses to talk to the media and, even in her home town of Furfield, very little has been seen of her. Multiple reports say Ruth has issued furious and repeated rebukes to some very determined representatives of the adult movie industry, touting lucrative film offers. Rumour also has it that she's considering legal action against the makers of MOT. What we do know for sure is that Ruth has been in touch with the Big Boulders Football Club, who were quick to express their regrets for any distress caused. As a goodwill gesture, they invited Ruth to a meal in her honour at their clubhouse. There's no news on how this particular social occasion might have unfolded...

* * * *

As the airport taxi pulls away, Ruth looks up at the clubhouse and feels a sudden pang of anxiety. There's definitely an element of 'bearding the lion in his den' in what she's about to do.

It still seems a little crazy, travelling hundreds of miles to make amends with a bunch of guys she barely knew. Well, 'barely' isn't quite true: not so long ago, Ruth had stood proudly in front of them all and gulped down their still-warm sperm. She is more intimately linked to them than she likes to admit.

But Ruth knows she has to accept this invitation: otherwise, this thing will be dogging her for the rest of her life, blighting her every relationship, niggling her subconscious every time she went for a job interview. The press were the worst. The way the papers casually labelled her "Spunky Little Ruth", a name which had stuck, makes her fume; almost as much as those idiots who dismiss the whole thing as a fraud, insisting that was just a bowl of egg whites everyone saw disappear down Ruth's throat. She can tell them from personal experience it wasn't.

Knocking on the door marked 'entrance', Ruth is surprised when it swings a little way open; no sounds emerge from inside. Undaunted, she crosses the threshold and wanders along the vinyl flooring of the drab main corridor. Is she definitely in the right place?

She knows the players' partners are supposed to be attending -- how awkward is that? Surely their other halves can't know what this gathering is really about? Ruth's secretly hoping she won't have to meet their girlfriends. I mean, what the hell do they expect her to say?

"My face looks familiar? Well, perhaps we bumped into each other on the national debating society circuit... or maybe you saw me drinking your boyfriend's SPUNK on live TV the other day?"

Ruth shakes her head, dispelling the negative thoughts; she needs to come to terms with the events of that night, starting with the role these boys (she still can't think of them as men) had played. Of course, they're only bit-players in Ruth's tragedy, but she needs to untangle her feelings about them. Then she can start getting back to normal...

At that instant the team captain, Andre, suddenly appears round a corner.

"Oh hey! Ms Chokier, welcome to our little club!" he enthuses, "Real pleased y'could make it!"

"Oh, just Ruth, please," she replies politely. The sight of this man immediately invokes strong memories of that night, but she quickly composes herself.

"Well Ruth, the rest of the lads are right through here, and they're all desperate to meet you again!" says Andre, leading her down a side corridor.

The room they emerge into is obviously a convention room, and a reasonable effort has been made to spruce it up. There's a table with some food, but the team themselves are just in scruffy sports gear. It's a bit of a let-down after Ruth had gone to the trouble of picking out a nice, smart outfit.

"Oh, I thought your girlfriends were all supposed to be coming?" Ruth queries.

Somewhere in the back of her head, alarm bells are ringing wildly.

"Oh no," says an unexpected voice behind her. "They won't be coming, but WE will be!"

Hands seize her wrists, propelling her towards the table. The food is summarily swept to the floor and Ruth bent over in its place.

Oh God, how stupid could she have been? What did she expect them to think she was?

"Get her skirt off, get it off!"

They're in such a hurry to yank down her dark business skirt that she feels the zip bust, and then fingers are clawing at her blouse, pulling from different angles, tearing it to pieces. Her underwear poses even less of an obstacle. Suddenly Ruth is naked, strong hands holding her down on the table as the men race each other to get out of their tracksuits and boxers.