Challenge 1, Part 1: Fashion Francis

Francis

“Have a seat, Master.”

The crone gestures towards a copy of “his” throne. The throne is arranged in the center of a long, unnaturally tall balcony, overseeing a ballroom of sorts. There are what seems like endless stairs on either end of the balcony that curve just so to meet right below the throne. At the ballroom level far below, 6 booths are set up, roped off. Each booth has a very large pink box, with what appears to be copies of his new transformation provided vanity and wardrobe, both on wheeled platforms. Odd.

“Rather stand.”

“You know, Master,” the seersucker suited scum offers, “according to our extensive data collection, masters that have not embraced their power over their **** sluts by the end of the first challenge is 73% more likely to suffer an early elimination. Usually, it’s whatever girl is most headstrong and impulsive. Sound like anyone you know?”

“They are people, not chattel. I expect you to start treating them as such.”

“They were people, they are chattel. But, Master satisfaction is important to us at Harem Hotel. What can I do to make their enslavement more pleasant for you?”

Wow. This sociopath is worse than I thought. Not even one conversation in, and I am already preferring the legion of demons in a clown.

Francis starts his steady breathing. In. Hold it. Out. Repeat.

“Well, first, I don’t know exactly how bad their treatment has been, since I have been locked up in the Master Suite.”

“That problem will have already been rectified, as you will have free reign of the hotel, outside of scheduled events, as of this morning. What else can I do for you?”

“From what I gathered in passing during dates, you have only been offering carnival food on sticks at the cafeteria. That can’t be healthy.”

“I got the food in bulk as part of my set contracts. Your sluts have had the opportunity to purchase different food from our stores. We are only required to meet basic necessities. Nothing more.”

“And mass produced corn dogs do not meet my requirements for basic necessities.”

“Agree to disagree.”

Francis continues his steady breathing. This is getting nowhere. I’m sure there is something I can do to help.

A random thought pops up, “My bed doesn’t have any blankets or whatnot. Did you provide them with anything like that?”

“The nightly temperature on the island has been set to the statistically perfect temperature to induce nightly cuddles. Cuddling is good for ratings. Cuddling under blankets, not so much.”

More deep breaths. More frustrations rising.

A different approach, then, “If I heard correctly, you are trying to test a grand theory. Have you considered that your sub-human treatment of them will mask any statistically significant findings? I didn’t get to hear any of your spiel, but perhaps whatever improvement granting them the ability to change me is being counteracted by poor diet or freezing nighttime temperatures. Even the worst hosts on the bits of other seasons I have watched have provided better base treatment of the contestants.”

That, apparently, just made the monster angry. “How dare you imply that my experimental design is less than perfect, you ungrateful cur. Your job is to merely enjoy subjugating your playthings with a significantly higher rate of satisfaction than other seasons by using your expanded veto power. Then my hosting genius will be given the praise it deserves.”

Francis just snorts, “I taught experimental design. This whole thing you’re doing? It screams too many poorly thought out independent variables and not enough quantifiable data points. Are you going to get anything measurable out of this, outside of how many of their lives you have utterly ruined in your wake?”

The whole time Francis dismisses her work, the hag starts screaming, the pitch and volume getting louder, “Shut up. Shut up. Shut Up. SHUT UP!”

Then, the world goes black.

Beckie Petersen

Finally, the thankless brat shuts up, Beckie thinks as she freezes Francis in place. Now to position him on his throne and then catch the last bit of Golden Girls before the challenge is set to begin.

She hums the Golden Girls theme as she works, perhaps a little more forcibly than necessary, to position the suspended Master on his throne. She’s just about ready to teleport herself back to her rooms on site when the **** sluts start wandering in. Not only did he insult me, but he made me miss an episode of Golden Girls? The unmitigated gall! I’ll be sure to have the hotel writing staff come up with some extra cruel transformations during this challenge just to watch him squirm.

She pops in a hard candy and starts to suck on it. These challenges require a lot of yammering. Need to keep the pipes moist. She summons her purely aesthetic stick microphone and gets ready to start filming. The show must go on!

“Welcome back to your most favorite season of Harem Hotel with your most favorite host, Beckie Peteresen! This afternoon is going to be such an exciting time for all of us here at the hotel as it is time for the first official challenge! And what a doozy I have planned for you. There is a station for each of you; hurry along and get to one of them.”

“Hey, Francis, you okay up there?” one of the **** sluts, doesn’t matter which, shouts.

Oh, shoot. Forgot to unfreeze him.

“Oh, silly me. The Master was so excited for the challenge that he needed to take a little nap. While maybe only a tenth as sexy as Bea Arthur, the Master is certainly visible for all now. How are we doing Master? Be sure to remember that we are live-streaming across the multiverse now. Don’t let the nerves get to you.”

The audacious scallywag tries to stand up instead of speaking once he is unfrozen. A quick poke in the chest puts a stop to that.

“Trying to run away? Let’s try that again. How are we doing Master? Excited to see your slut slaves compete for your amusement?”

“They aren’t slaves, they are people. You know, even Binky understands he’s playing with people, and Binky is a collective of demons that chose to live in a clown.”

One of the **** sluts shiver at the name of that Host. The nerve of this Master?

“Hah, hah, funny. According to my extensive data, I am 47% better as a host than Binky and I have been recently featured in Sexy Host Magazine.”

“Was it an April issue?”

A couple of the sluts laughed at that. Was that a joke? I don’t get it.

“Oh, what fun banter we have developed while spending so much time together this week! Let’s see the highlights reel as the dumb sluts get into position!”

Hearing the cue from the B-roll team, Beckie shifts her tone, “Now listen here, you stupid sex slaves. You will follow directions now! Get into position or you will wish you get an elimination transformation. And you, Master, play along with the show or so help me I will make you regret ever presuming that you are better than Andy Griffith’s least beautiful tie.”

B-roll over, Beckie is happy to see each slut standing by their station’s large pink box. Time for another one of my patented amazing monologues!

“In a sense, this season is all about vision. Each of you have a vision for the future foisted upon you and they are all competing for supremacy. Which of you have that vision assembled clearest? Which of you have the will to see it through? That is what this challenge will test. Open you package!”

A set of displays hover at balcony level so that Beckie and the bratty Master can see what is happening in each booth clearly. Packages are torn apart in various fashions until a set of nude clones of Francis are revealed, to various groans.

“That’s right, each of you have your very own Fashion Francis! A life sized representation of your Master as he is currently. Your goal is to decorate your Fashion Francis to represent your vision of your future as your Master’s sexy ****. Of course, you must remember that your future Francis will be much more feminine. To assist, you will find a wardrobe and a make-up vanity with similar characteristics to the one’s breeding slut just bought for your actual Master. So, hair, make-up, clothes. Also, you need to prepare yourself to match as your Master’s submissive ****. Again, the wardrobe and vanity are available for your needs as well.”

Beckie briefly describes how to use the magical furniture (vanity has make-up, the semi-sentient wardrobe can make any item, provided the wardrobe senses that is being used for the event), continuing to ignore the various feelings of the sex slaves.

“For the final bit of challenge fun, I’m going to need one of you **** sluts to volunteer. I’ll give you a butterscotch candy.”

None of the sluts immediately jump up to volunteer. What’s wrong with them? It’s butterscotch!

“Fine. No volunteer. I’ll pick and I’ll get the butterscotch. Aaaah you, naked slut. Stroke the hair of your Fashion Francis.”

The naked slut snaps herself out of some irrelevant funk and tentatively brushes the doll’s hair. The slut looks a little confused. Beckie needs to prod her to continue when she stops. Ugh. Should’ve picked a different slut. That one is too gentle. After a few moments too long, the doll starts to cum and it’s hair starts to grow. Nevermind. The naked slut’s face right now is priceless.

Popping the butterscotch in her mouth, Beckie continues, “That’s right. Each Fashion Francis will cum just like your Master would. You, naked slut, need to work on your hair-stroking technique. This will be good practice. If you’re curious on how this will affect the larger game, you cannot earn VP on your Fashion Francis. But, we are monitoring how often each Fashion Francis cums and why. We will be averaging your activity for the various ways to improve your Master. At the end of the challenge, we will apply those averages to your Master. What fun!”

“That’s bullshit!” one of the sluts yells.

“Don’t care. You got one hour to prepare your Fashion Francis, then we’ll talk about how you are being judged. Judging will be such fun too! Ready... go!”