Veil closed her open mouth. “Gas propelled,” she said, catching on.
“Farts are legitimate propellant,” the announcer agreed. “It requires internal skill to hold gas pressure behind a turd.”
Obviously so. “At least it doesn’t leave much of a mess,” she said distastefully.
“There are mess contests too. Also shape contests.”
“Shape?” Her question was out before she managed to stifle it. A new picture appeared. A man bared his bottom, bent over, and strained. His anus eased open and a greenish brown turd emerged. This was no flying ball; it turned out to be a long one, tapering as it came, until it fell to the ground. It wriggled away, snakelike.
“Animated turds,” the announcer explained. “Most are snakelike, but some are like other animals, including small men. Girls really scream when a turd doll chases after them demanding a kiss.”
Veil sighed. There was evidently no end to this disgusting nonsense. “What else are you determined to show me?”
“The third type of contest is the most popular: farting. It has the greatest number of divisions and classes. Champion farters are held in the highest popular esteem. Amplitude is measured on the Rectum Scale.”
Like a gaseous earthquake. Another dirty pun. Veil sighed. “And you are going to see that I observe every type in action?”
“There is no need; you understand the principle.”
She was surprised. “Now you will tell me what my place in this revolting scheme is?”
“In due course. First you need to become better acquainted with our culture.”
“I am more than sufficiently acquainted with it already.”
“You may think you are, but this could be like the woman who thought she was ready to have intercourse with a demon.”
This intrigued her, irritatingly. “Oh?”
A picture of a slender young woman appeared on the screen. “Come to me, my demon lover,” she breathed, removing her farthingale. The demon appeared. He was big and muscular, but had a rather small penis.
“At your service, mortal piece,” he said.
The woman lay on a bed that appeared and spread her slender legs, revealing her tight genital region. “Put it in there, lover.”
“Do you think it will fit?” The demon’s member was growing.
She laughed. “Of course it will fit! Get on with it.”
The demon obliged. But by now his phallus was huge, about eight inches long and broad in proportion. He put it to her slit, adjusted its orientation, and shoved, but the aperture was not large enough. “It’s too big.”
The girl had not looked at the implement since lying down, and evidently didn’t realize how the situation had changed. “Nonsense. Just hammer it in harder.”
The demon gave a powerful thrust, and the member forged in all the way, disappearing inside her. “There!”
And the thin woman split into two halves. There was one leg, hip, and breast to the left, and a similar set to the right, united only at her head. She had been cleaved apart by the wedge of his entry. She looked surprised.
Veil knew it was fake, because there was no blood and the cleavage was too clean. “Very funny,” she said. “And do you have any jokes on men?”
Immediately a new picture came on. This was of a young man coming to a complex of clinics. “Time to get my teeth cleaned,” he said. “I think this is the right address.”
He entered the office. The woman at the desk looked up. “Yes?”
“I’m here for hygiene.”
“You’re in luck; we have an opening now.” She showed him into the chamber and he sat in the reclining chair. “She’ll be right with you, sirrah.”
In a moment the sweet-faced hygienist arrived. She set out her instruments, making small talk. Then folded padded arm and leg clamps on the man’s limbs and touched a button. The chair turned over so that he was suspended inverted. She opened a hatch that was now over his posterior. She pulled down his pants, baring his bottom.
“Hey!” he exclaimed.
“Have no concern sirrah,” she said, taking a small brush to his puckered anus. “I am fully qualified for anal hygiene.”
“But I came for oral hygiene!”
“Oh? That’s the next office.” She took a metal pick to his pucker, cleaning out a turd fragment. “You really should brush after every evacuation, so there’s no chance for infection.” She shot a jet of water into the hole, then took it back up with a suction hose. “You really need a cleaning, sirrah. Fortunately we have a special on enemas this week.”
“But I don’t want—”
She poked a larger nozzle in. There was the gurgle of soapy water. “You’ll feel like a new man, once all that nasty old refuse is cleaned out.”
“But—”
“Of course we’ll clean your butt,” she agreed, taking a shoeshine brush to it. In moments his buttocks shined.
“Enough,” Veil said. “I believe I am ready to hear about my own situation here.”
The picture faded. “You are in a contest. You are the Prize Maiden of the Week.”
“Apart from the evident fact that I’m hardly a maiden, because I’m nursing my baby, what is this contest? I absolutely refuse to urinate or defecate before gawking men.”
“Assuming you have a choice.” It sounded worse the second time.
“What contest?”
“Each week a comely anonymous maiden is confined to the glass tower, the prize for the victorious contestant. She will be his or her sex slave for the following year.”
“His or her?”
“We are an equal opportunity society. If a woman wants a woman, she is welcome to compete.”
“And if the maiden declines to indulge in this—this sex slavery?”
“Few do. Most regard it as an honor. A significant portion of our roster is filled by local volunteers. If one gets pregnant, she has a claim of marriage on the man.”
“And those few who don’t consider it an honor?”
“They learn pretense, unless the man prefers unwillingness.”
Legalized rape, again. They could drug her, or simply threaten her baby. She would cooperate, or else. “And you say I am this week’s prize maiden?” She hoped she had somehow misheard.
“Correct. You are on display, and the first contestant has been selected.”
“Already!”
“It started yesterday. Do you wish to see the man?”
“No!” But she knew it didn’t matter. The mystery was clarifying. Each week they went out somewhere and persuaded or abducted a comely woman, and she was the current one. It seemed odd that they would take one with a baby, as most men preferred, as it had been put, maidens. Maybe it represented variety. Probably some were giggly teens, while others were mature women such as herself. She was 33, but had kept herself in shape with diet and exercise. Perhaps that had been her undoing. “There will be seven final contestants?”
“In a manner. Each will be a day’s winner. You will choose one of them. That is why you might prefer to watch them contest; it may offer clues to their nature.”
“I must choose one, to became a sex slave for,” she said. “I am not allowed to turn them all down?”
“You are allowed, but then you go instead to the ogre.” A picture appeared of a huge hairy apelike creature rattling his cage and fondling his enormous genital member. “You will be put into his cage. If you survive the year, you will be released.”
She would choose one of the contestants. “Suppose I choose one, then discover I can’t endure it?”
“You will be assigned to the runner up, and your year will begin again. If you have a problem with him, you will start a year with the third. If you should happen to run through them all, you will finish with the ogre.”