(Male Version) Life's a B**ch: A What Would You Do Story (Part 3 of 3)

Read Parts 1 and 2 here:
https://www.patreon.com/posts/male-version-b-1-98009579
https://www.patreon.com/posts/male-version-b-2-98417930 

(If you read Parts 1 and 2, lucky you! You can skip down to the Finale section of the story below!)

Introduction

It was Day 1 of the inaugural Life’s a Beach Festival, a 4-day music festival being held for the first time on the beach in Daytona Beach, Florida.

Comedy Central was a presenting sponsor of the festival, and their smash hit show, the revival of the 90s variety show What Would You Do, was located in Daytona Beach and was taping a special episode where winners of games played on the show would take home 4-Day VIP passes to L-A-B Fest, giving them upgraded accommodations and access to the most exclusive areas at the festival.

The first game of the day was a simple one: two teams of four went head-to-head, one person from each team was assigned to a day of the festival, and had to name more artists performing that day than their opponent. The loser had to pick one of eight squares from a “Mystery Board”, which contained numerous punishments and, ultimately, a GAME OVER square, which would award the VIP passes to the other team, and send every member of the team that drew the square to one of the show’s infamous pie devices, inspired by the messy contraptions of the original.

One set of guys were a nerdy set of rising seniors at the University of Arizona and who had just driven in from Tucson earlier that morning; the other group were rising seniors from rival Arizona State University, and they too had just driven in from Tempe earlier that day.

After the eight-round game, the bros were totally destroyed. As a penalty for losing different rounds, all four of them received a pie slammed in his face and another smashed into each of their asses.

• Charlie had come in wearing a pink and black Inter Miami jersey with Lionel Messi’s name and #10 on the back, with light blue denim jeans and glasses. He looked every bit a soccer player, shorter and more slender with a well-built lower half. We got to see even more of that body when his clothes got cut off, and for his troubles, he got an entire sheet cake shoved into his ass, and another thrown right in his face, courtesy of festival performer Steve Aoki.
• Ricky is Mexican-American, 5’10” and toned with tan skin and close cropped dark brown hair. He sported a Toon Squad jersey (from Space Jam) and basketball shorts, but like Charlie, these were all cut off as a penalty for losing a round. He was turned into an ice cream sundae in an earlier round too, so melted ice cream and chocolate syrup dripped all over his body and onto the floor all around him.
• Jason is jacked, Italian-American and had a strong Staten Island accent. He came in looking like he just finished a workout, wearing a skintight blue tank top with the Superman logo on it and slim-fit running shorts on his thick thighs. He had cemented his bro-y look by gelling his hair that day. He screwed his entire team when he drew the square that said pie in the face for everyone on his team, and got even more screwed himself when he drew a card that said BAZOOKA, putting him on the wrong end of a Bazooka-style gun loaded up with green slime. Consequently, the entire front of his body was covered in thick, green slime.
• Ben was a striking 6’4” Swedish international student with a blonde ponytail and pecs for days beneath his unbuttoned baseball-style button-down shirt. Like Jason, Ben’s thighs were basically popping out of his jorts. Inside those jorts was an ice cream sundae, which was done in his underwear by special request. His tighty whities were destroyed, and the jorts were quickly becoming that way as well, as melted ice cream and chocolate sauce seeped deep into their fabric, not to mention down Ben’s long legs.

Meanwhile, the guys had largely gotten off scot-free, with the exception of one burly bro.

• Eric had oversized glasses on, a kind of shield for his blue eyes. He had close-cropped blonde hair and had a light-blue v-neck t-shirt and dark basketball shorts.
• Grayson was the tallest of the four, but extremely lanky, like he’d never even seen a gym before. He, too, has close-cropped blonde hair and a cute smile to go along with his black tank top and gray running shorts.
• Victor was a skinny Asian guy, and was the only one among his friends who took any punishment in the first segment. Unfortunately, it was all of the punishments. He had been stripped down to his lime green speedo, gotten pied in the face, pied mercilessly in the crotch, and, gotten caked in the face.
• Ray was Hispanic and a native of Arizona. He’d never been out of his home state and really wanted to make this trip worthwhile; it was his hand that had been raised when Marc singled out his group. He had the darkest skin of the four and dark brown hair to go along with his gray sleeveless t-shirt and jeans.

On top of all this, the frat boys had just drawn the GAME OVER square, forfeiting the VIP passes to the dorks and sentencing each of them to a pie device to receive one final humiliation.

Finale

Just before the show went to commercial, one of the boys grabbed Marc’s microphone and mocked them one last time with their sentence.

“Every one of these meatheads is going to a pie device, LET’S GOOOOOO, SEE YA FELLAS!!!”

As the show returned from break, we now see how each girl is going to pay the price.

Charlie was locked into the Torture Machine, facing the Pie Pod/Pie Wash combo, now outfitted with four cakes aimed at his face, several cream nozzles positioned above his body, and a bucket of mystery mess in the shape of a crown right above his head. Charlie’s wrists were locked to the chair’s armrests, his ankles to the chair’s legs, leaving a wide open target in just a thin pair of gray boxer briefs protecting him.

Jason climbed a tall ladder, taking him 20 feet above the stage floor, only to take a seat like a lever positioned over a vat full of mess. The seat had one job: release the abrasive bro in the skintight Superman lycra top and running shorts to take a terrifying freefall into slop. Except this time, instead of pie filling, the tank is filled with hundreds of gallons of green slime. Droplets of slime oozed off Jason’s body and took the long plunge down to mix with the slime in the tank as Jason tried his best to exude defiance while on the seat. In reality, he was terrified, barely covering up his shaking body.

Meanwhile, Ricky and Ben were both at the Pie Slide. But instead of being at the top of the slide, ready to take a long journey into a comically oversized cream pie, Ricky stood at the end of a diving board hanging a couple of feet over the giant pie. Just off the pie, firmly on safe ground, stood Marc alongside messy Ben. Between them was a catapult with a single sheet cake on it.

And that’s where the final punishments would begin.

“Welcome back to What Would You Do!” Marc exclaimed. “If you watched the game before the break, you’ll know that not only did the team from Arizona State get clobbered with pies, cakes, and all sorts of good stuff, they also lost the game, giving the treasured Life’s a Beach weekend VIP passes over to the University of Arizona team!

Referring to the teams’ mascots, Marc said, “So while these Wildcats sip Pina Coladas in beach chairs next to the stage, each and every one of these Sun Devils is probably gonna be picking some sticky stuff out of their hair the rest of the weekend.

“Now I’ve got Ben here, and he tells me that he was roped into playing this game at the very last minute, is that right, Ben?”

“It was Ricky’s idea,” Ben pleaded. “I was just trying to play along, but I didn’t think it’d end up like this!”

“Well,” Marc said, “I’m gonna give you one last chance to save yourself.

“We’ve got Ricky standing on the edge of that diving board right in front of you. And right here, we’ve got one giant cake on a nice little catapult for you.

“Your job is to launch that cake directly at Ricky and knock him backwards into the giant pie on our famous What Would You Do Pie Slide!”

The crowd roars. Ricky is like a lamb being led to a creamy slaughter.

“You get one shot at it. If you hit him, and he falls in, you’re safe, and nothing else happens to you! But if you hit him and he doesn’t fall, or if you miss him with the cake altogether, you get to take a seat right over there–” Marc points at the seat at the top of the Pie Slide ramp “--and you get to go down the Pie Slide yourself, okay?”

The crowd roars again. One of these two is getting messy, either sundae-covered and underwear-wearing Ricky, or the pathetic Ben, trying to weasel his way out of more humiliation at his friend’s expense.

The camera zips over to show Ricky at the edge of the diving board, sneaking a peek at the massive cream pie below him. His anxiety is palpable. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, though this nervous energy will only make him more unstable, even likelier to fall into the dessert if hit by the cake.

“Can we get a slow clap going, folks?” Marc says.

The audience starts to clap and stomp their feet, creating a thunderous roar throughout the studio. This is going to be good.

“On the count of three, Ben, aim the cake, pull the lever, and give Ricky your best shot!”

The claps hit a crescendo as the audience begins the count. Ricky’s arms go ramrod straight as they drop to his sides.

ONE! TWO! THREE!

Ben yanks a cord and sends the cake flying through the air. Ricky sees it approaching his face at high speed, and immediately shuts his eyes. He hears nothing but silence as he awaits the impact. Will it be hard? Will it hurt? Will he ever see a birthday party the same way again?

It feels like forever, and he lets out a little involuntary yelp, and right at that moment–

BLAM!

The two-foot-long cake shuts him up, slamming right into his face and blasting the top half of his body, from his head to his pecs. His pie-smothered face gets blasted with cake so dense that he had no shot. It explodes all over him, sending colorful frosting, doughy cake, and rainbow sprinkles all over the place, and easily shoving his body flying through the air.

Ricky leaves his feet and for a moment, he feels himself flying. For a split second, it feels freeing, until he feels gravity’s grip take over and feels himself falling through the air.

The feeling doesn’t last very long; the next thing he feels is the sensation of cold cream smothering his ass; his underwear provided basically no protection against the thick, sticky whipped cream in the Pie Slide pie. His clean, bare back hits next, then his head, where he falls completely underneath the pie, which shoots cream in all directions as it receives his body. More cream flies straight up in the air and lands right back down on Ricky’s face, chest, and stomach, basically burying him in a grave of pie.

Beneath his butt, Ricky feels all something extra gooey, along with solids; the blueberry pie filling that was in many of the pies used against him and his teammates also found its way into this giant pie, and his body fell so far through the cream that his entire back half got smothered in dark blue goo.

From his prone seat in the pie, Ricky couldn’t hear the audience going bonkers, and with pie and cake all over his face, he couldn’t see them pointing and laughing at him either.

Ricky rolls over to try to get to his feet, only to find that the pie is deeper than he initially thought. His rollover only causes him to sink deeper into it, smothering his entire front – and face! – in even more blueberry cream muck. He finally finds his way to his knees, looking like a ghost. His face is unrecognizable, his underwear no longer even visible, completely destroyed by pie mess.

A camera is waiting for him once he emerges, and it zooms straight in on his face, panning down his body to see the destruction that Ben has caused. Ben, for his part, is safe.

But Jason is not! Marc has already made his way over to the Dunk Tank, where Jason is seated a whopping two stories above the vat of green slime. He’s still visibly shaking, his muscular pecs bouncing ever so slightly from inside his too-tight workout shirt,. Marc is finally ready to put him out of his misery.

“Once again, audience, let’s hear that count!”

ONE! TWO! THREE!

Marc slams the dunk tank target hard, releasing the seat high above the tank and sending Jason on his terrifying freefall. He finally betrays his tough guy exterior and screams all the way down, arms and legs flailing in all directions, searching desperately for something to grab onto, to save him. But no savior is forthcoming.

It took maybe 3 seconds tops, but after what felt like forever, Jason’s body punctures the gloppy green slime, sending splashes of the stuff arcing through the air in all directions: toward Marc, toward the audience, even toward Ricky just a few feet away, still looking humiliated at the bottom of the Pie Slide.

Much like Ricky, Jason’s screams are immediately silenced as his body hits the goo. He goes completely under, disappearing completely except for a slight figure seen through the window of the dunk tank. Desperately seeking balance, Jason’s feet find the window and kick off it, and after just a few seconds beneath the surface, he finally resurfaces, a slime monster in all green and gasping for air.

The slime is extremely sticky, meaning every square inch of his body – his gelled brown hair, his square-jawed face, his tight Superman t-shirt – were smothered in the cake batter mixture. Jason licked his lips and both loved and hated the taste, the sweetness of it all. How badly he wanted to just lift up one of those U of A dorks, toss him in here and hold his head underneath the slime for as long as the guy could take it. He was fuming. Bad things like this don’t happen to people like me, he thinks.

Wanting to get out of his slimy prison as quickly as possible, he grabs hold of the small ladder leading out of the dunk tank bucket and finds his way to the stage floor, where, as with Ricky, cameras immediately descend upon him, taking in one tight shot after another of Jason’s sexy body, the tight spandex shirt clinging tightly to his muscular body, his running shorts clinging to his hips and showing an ever-so-slight outline of his massive dick. He rubs his hands down his body to remove as much slime as he can, and the cameras capture this too. Now, with green all over him except for his chest, his pecs are even more inviting.

But Marc has made his way all the way to the other side of the stage to meet his final victim: the slender Charlie, looking completely exposed in nothing but a pair of underwear, his wrists and ankles restrained, his legs spread wide, leaving his underwear to show the soft, round flesh of his balls.

Having never seen the show before, but seeing himself surrounded by nozzles, cakes, and buckets, and with his wrists and ankles restrained on top of that, Charlie instinctively knew he had every reason to be afraid. As the honorary executioner, Marc all but confirmed his fears.

“Charlie, last but not least, here you are, about to take four whole cakes to your face, covered in cream from these nozzles, and finally, a bucket of mystery mess dumped all over you from the heavens. Anything you’d like to say to your teammates, to your opponents, to anybody at this point?”

“Please just let me out of here, you’ve done enough!”

“No, no,” Marc said. “I think there’s one more thing we have to do, right audience?”

An eruption of cheers.

“Well, you heard them! On the count of three, everybody, let’s say one last goodbye to Charlie!”

ONE! TWO! THREE!

Expecting a cake to hit him first, Charlie was caught by surprise as a nozzle beneath his mesh seat fired straight up into his rear end first. His thin boxer briefs offered almost no protection as a jet of cream blasted his bottom, leading him to arch his back as far as he could. He emitted an agonizing scream as he felt the bottoms of his underwear getting soiled.

Much like the other guys, he was quickly shut up with the first of the four cakes, each of which was frosted with one word on it, reading “What Would You Do” from left to right.

“What” hit him square in the face first, a chocolate concoction with vanilla icing that turned his entire top half black and white. His face took a beating, but his medium-length wavy hair wasn’t far behind, the weight of the icing blasting it backward before flattening it to his head and neck.

Cake 2 (“Would”) didn’t get enough air on it, which ended up working out for the best, as it slammed right into his ample chest, smothering his pecs before leaving a trail of icing down his stomach and sliding into his lap. Cherry filling and frosting mix in with the white frosting to add a nice pop of color Charlie’s body.

Cake 3 (“You”) blasts him hard in the face a second time, this one so hard that his head gets knocked back into the padded headrest behind him. The cake hit him so hard that the foamboard base it was on broke in half on impact, and the cake itself wrapped around his head, like a pillow that someone used to envelop his face. The red velvet cake showered his top half with cake bits, all while depositing a fresh layer of frosting onto his already heavy, coated hair, and adding another inch of frosting to the multi-car pileup that once was his handsome face.

Cake 4 (“Do”) was another misfire, though the damage it did made it seem like hardly a misfire at all. This one once again smashed him right in the chest, but the cake was so long that its blast zone reached all the way down to his crotch. Any part of his stomach, hips, or chest that wasn’t already treated to sugary frosting got a nice layer of vanilla cake to pile on, with the bonus of his dick getting blasted underneath his underwear. Charlie shivered at the sensation of the cold on his stomach, and the feeling of cake slightly penetrating his underwear and getting in between his legs.

Those shivers practically turned to convulsions as the Pie Wash portion of the Torture Machine got underway. More thick, heavy whipped cream sprayed onto Charlie’s already caked up body from all directions from four different cream guns, at such velocity that cake bits started shooting off of him into oblivion, some of them even hitting nearby audience members. Any chocolate, cherries, and red velvet visible on his body were quickly papered over with a fresh coating of white cream as Charlie spun around and around, fresh cream piling up on his face, hair, and body with each revolution. Twice he spun, three times, then four, until finally, mercifully, coming to a complete stop.

By now, Charlie is completely stunned. He’d been hit – extremely hard, mind you – by four giant cakes, took an unexpected blast of cream to the butt, spun around several times while multiple cream guns fired more sweet cream straight at his body. A pile of cake and cream at least three inches high sat atop his head, with mess at least an inch thick covering most of the rest of his body, from his legs to his face. The cameras zoomed in on his face to find him wheezing, and a long dribble of cream falling out of his mouth and onto his totally smothered crotch.

Then one more unexpected humiliation, as a nozzle that Charlie had not noticed fired even more cream from the heavens, straight down onto his balls. It was another direct hit that sent the white stuff flying everywhere once again, so far that it even splattered his face for the umpteenth time. Charlie wailed from the shock, unable to tell whether this was painful or orgasmic, but either way felt so humiliated that in his mind he was merely begging for it to stop.

The jet finally stopped, but only to give way to the final coronation: the Crowning Glory. As soon as Charlie recovered his senses a bit, his heart rate started to come down, he heard a clank from somewhere above him, and barely had time to react before a deluge of blueberry pie filling came raining down on his head, sending the pile of creamy cake off the top of his head and demolishing him once more. The soupy blueberry sauce cascaded down his face, smothered his white-frosted hair, and flooded into his underwear. Charlie’s feet and arms kicked around to the extent they could, demonstrating his agony and expressing through body language his pleas to make it stop. But all this wriggling did was send more heavy blueberry mess into his underwear, tickling his dick and causing the boxers to sag further and further.

OHHHH the crowd groans, as they watch the blueberry deluge finish Charlie off. Those groans quickly turn into cheers. Not only did they see four hot guys get totally demolished with perhaps the most mess the show had ever used in one game, two of them even got their clothes cut off! It was only a shame that stagehands locked all of the audience members’ phones away in the lobby before allowing them to enter the studio. They’d have to commit this carnage and all the hot bodies covered in slop to memory.

At last, the boys’ ordeal was over, along with their hopes of VIP tickets, their clothes, and their egos. All four frat boys are left totally demolished by the show’s signature substances: Ricky covered in pie and cake, Jason and Ben covered in slime, and Charlie covered in all three. All of them got it bad, but it would be an open debate as to who got it the worst.

And the worst part is, the show’s showers were inoperable, the producers said. Likely because every previous victim on the show was covered in the same crap, and sent all kinds of sludge down the drain, the pipes were backed up and the studio had a huge plumbing problem. The guys would simply have to towel off, accept an apology and maybe some ill-fitting clothes, and be on their way, leaving them to either scrub the grime off their bodies in the saltwater of the ocean, at the totally open-air beach showers, which only were really intended to wash sand off feet, or just go to the festival as-is. Good luck getting shampoo that works in the ocean.

And so there the frat boys were, trudging out of the studio into the bright sunlight, the festival about to start, clothes in tatters, remnants of the messy horrors they endured still painted all over their bodies. Their car, where the holy grail of fresh clothes was located, was inside the perimeter of the festival, so they had to pass through security to get back in, creating one final humiliation: having to explain to security why they looked so ragged, and yes, we really are festival attendees.

That’s what this show has become, thanks to clips that have gone viral, week after week: a vehicle for contestants to find increasingly degrading things to do to each other, with a crowd that eggs them on for their own entertainment.

People will do anything for a prize. Marc couldn’t wait to see what the writers’ room came up with next.