A porno game show version of “Chopped” called “Chapped.” The actors gotta incorporate four different sex toys in each round: Solo, Foreplay, and Intercourse. The team with the least creative use of the basket toys get chapped, which means they gotta wear chapped pants while being sexually humiliated through (consensual) BDSM.
Random number generator says: 14. Flowers with your muses name on the tag “Ah. That.”
At Miriam’s nod, Carson approached one of the stalls where a rather bored-looking woman seemed to be slumped on a high stool. Carson guessed from her dress and manner that she was somebody’s apprentice, told to mind the business for a few hours. She looked only marginally interested in the concept of customers when she noticed him.
Now that he was here, he felt a bit silly. What should he say to even start this off? Like, “Pardon me, miss, would you happen to have some dog testicles on standby for this chap slobbering on my pant leg?” Well, there was nothing for it. “Hello. Yes. I was just glancing over your wares, and… you are in the business of selling, ah, parts? That is, living parts?” “What’re kinda bits you looking for?” she asked, still sounding bored as she slid off the stool. The delicacy of his questioning didn’t seem to interest her much more than selling in general did. “Ah. Well, actually, I was hoping to fix a male fecundity issue. For the animal,” he quickly added as she raised her brows, looking him up and down a bit lewdly. “He had a little misunderstanding with a fellow with a pair of surgical scissors, and I’d like to repair that.”
“Wouldja now,” remarked the woman, pretending to be relatively unconvinced. Jiāng put his head on the table emphatically and almost flipped it over, and she scrambled to right it with an agility that her earlier slothfulness had concealed. “Come ‘round the back,” she drawled, going that way without looking back to see if he was following.
In the back, there was a modicum of privacy by virtue of what looked like a clothesline and a number of heavy cloths to muffle the sound and keep prying eyes away. There was a rather cheap little table back here, and the young woman gestured for the dog to be set upon it. Carson attempted to convince Jiāng to climb up, but the dog seemed primarily confused and kept licking Carson’s hand in an attempt to please him. This did not, however, please him overmuch. Finally Carson screwed his eyes shut, bent down and tried to lift the dog up. This proved rather unsuccessful as the dog outweighed him by a good 40 lbs. or so* and Carson wasn’t exactly the most athletic person anyway. He finally stepped back, panting a little, and shrugged.
The woman laughed at him and shrugged back, and tugged on one of the cloths sharply. Instead of plummeting to the ground off the clothesline, it slowly rippled off and then whirled around the space, causing the other sheets to flap lugubriously at its passing, before executing a complex swirling maneuver beside the table and revealing a robe-clad individual with a very long face and hair that was less spikes and more stalagmites, the color of milky coffee left in the heat too long. “Good job, Inirit,” he said. “You didn’t scare off business again with your frightful public face. What bits, kid?” He turned and fixed Carson with a gaze that felt like he was pointing at him, without lifting a finger.
Carson had gone stiff and still, watching the figure, and at this he ducked his head and turned slightly, watching the figure sidelong. “It’s for the animal,” he said, “he needs to be able to procreate…”
“Those bits!” said the figure. “Fun. You here to look, or have you got a mold in mind?” He cast a look like pointing below Carson’s belt. “Since you’re here to replace, and you stink of guilt. Hee hoo.” “To look through your wares, Hayjiy,” said Miriam, unimpressed.
“Uh, whatever… fits,” Carson answered, looking slightly alarmed about the idea of actually shopping for a particular “mold.” “So long as they’re functional.”
“Of course,” said Hayjiy. “Inirit, bringemout." He cackled as the bored woman pushed aside one of the sheets and then dragged in a large grey plastic tote box, which seemed to weigh as much as she did. She heaved it at Carson’s feet and glared at her employer. "Some assembly required,” he said, cackling again.
“Uuuuh…” he looked to Miriam to see if she had any input at this point. “All right, that sounds, uh, fine. What’s the price?”
“Nine thousand yen,” said Hayjjiy. “Or have you got anything good in the pit of your stomach?” He reached out to Carson with short, stubby fingers and was intercepted by Miriam. But instead of being deflected by her block, his hand continued on its path and passed into her slightly below the bottom of her sternum, drawing a strangled little squeak from her. He automatically rooted around, sorting through all her strange and sick feelings and fears and hard knots that had sank or formed there in the symbolic space in her belly where the idiom resided, and only after he had completed his search did he realize he’d searched the wrong person. “Whoops! Sorry,” he said. He withdrew his hand, trailing gobs and long strings of clear gel from the knuckles and fingertips. “That’s not the proper transaction for this purchase,” Miriam wheezed. She doubled over briefly just as an angry, secretive look crossed the vendor’s face, and was long gone by the time she straightened. “That payment’s not nearly equal to the value of the goods. Something else.” ”Fiiiiine,“ Hayjiy drawled, and turned to Carson, wiggling his fingers. "Ok, kid. I guess you could either ejaculate into a jar or cry me a river. That should cover the bits, although if we make ‘em fresh you’ll have to do two jars or two rivers.”
For a moment Carson just blinked at the vendor before a surprising blush lit his cheeks like a brushfire. He coughed, using the motion to bring his fist to cover his face slightly while he recovered. “Interestingly, I was just reading a legend similar to something of that sort,” he said, speaking a little quickly as he tried to deflect the conversation. “Apparently in Sumerian legend—one of your most ancient cultures—one of the most beloved and wisest of gods, Enki, brought live-giving water to the land by going into the reeds and making rivers of his semen. I’m afraid the story gets even stranger from there, but my point is that you people seem to be a bit hung up on the idea and its cross-connections, aren’t you.”
Miriam laughed at that, then grimaced and put a hand to her stomach, as if she felt like she’d start leaking if she didn’t. Hayjiy stared at Carson and one entire side of his face spasmed lasciviously. “So, what’ll it be?” he said. “I oughtta tell you that whichever you think is more valuable will getcha better bits.”
The both sounded like pretty dangerous options is what they sounded like. He wasn’t the most superstitious person, but the symbolic nature of the request made him uneasy in these shady settings. Still, what a strange question. Which did he personally value more? “How good to the bits have to be?” he asked Miriam, his voice trending slightly high.
==> Telrian: Talbern’s instructions cycle through your mind as you lope up the stairs, pace slow and erratic. Painfully aware of the shock collar tightly roped around your neck, you don’t dare to stop moving. Rivulets of sweat tracing down the side of your face, panting through chapped lips, you limp your way to the room where Angelkat was residing. Sucking in the dusty air of the hive, you turn into the doorway, pausing to rest your hand against it for balance as your half lidded eyes blearily meet the angel inside.