Week 5 Summary

The lights hit hard and hot, flooding the stage in brilliant gold and lurid violet. The College Spread logo pulses on the giant screen behind the chairs, letters outlined in neon pink and blue like a strip club masquerading as a game show. The music fades and the audience grows louder than usual—murmuring, laughing, maybe a little shocked. A few shout out names. Some chant numbers. Everyone knows something happened this week.

And then Rhett walks out. He’s in navy again, the cut just a little tighter than necessary. His tie says serious, but his smirk says sleaze. The kind of man who could sell you a timeshare and talk you into thanking him afterwards. "Ladies, gentlemen, and those with a spicier flavor on the College Spread buffet—welcome to Week Five!"

Cheers. Scattered whistles. Someone yells, "Show us the footage!" and someone else yells "I was the footage!" Rhett rides the energy like a pro, pacing just enough to let his words roll.

"This week sees the start of the second four-week cycle—and believe me, it shows. Scores are climbing. And a few of our players seem to be discovering just how slippery things get when you’re naked and under a camera."

He pauses, lets it breathe.

"Tonight, we’ve got fresh footage. We’ve got fails. We’ve got at least one act of indecent exposure. And we’ve got a score shift that is going to light this place up like a frat party with no resident advisor."

Rhett’s smile sharpens. The logo on the screen spins and contracts to nothing, then new words lock in—ready to play.

"And of course," he says, stepping toward the row of seated players now illuminated beneath the stage lights, "we've got our charming little cast of degenerates. Each of them are ready to share gory details of the maidens they deflowered, the seductresses who devoured them, and everything in between."

He gestures to the screen and the weekly summary begins.

The screen behind him flares again, momentarily washing the stage in electric blue as bold white text flickers into place. The leaderboard locks in with an authoritative musical salute—bright, clean, and brutal.

Current Standings – Week 5 Leaderboard

1. Milo Gutierrez – 3,978 pts

2. Graham West – 2,900 pts

3. Professor Simon Rourke – 79 pts

4. The Fresher – –40 pts

5. Cassie Li – –335 pts

Disqualified: Zeke Kensington III (Week 2)

Eliminated: Tank Marshall (Cycle 1, Week 4)

Rhett tilts his head toward the screen, barely hiding the smirk curling across his lips.

"The state of play at the start of the week was… intense!" he purrs. "Some are rising. Some are freefalling. And one poor bastard signed away his free will and still came out on top."

The screen fades. The lights tighten. “Now it’s time we saw what happened THIS week and how it affects the state of play.”

“First, let’s turn to the man of the hour—our fresher. The underdog with a bite. The boy wonder who’s turned more long shots into screaming finishes than a Vegas brothel on championship weekend.”

The crowd laughs. Someone whistles. Someone else yells, “Mr. Impossible!”

Rhett grins wide. “Yes, Mr. Impossible himself. The freshman who flew across oceans for a mystery hole. Who managed to leave a lesbian walking funny but declaring sex toys were better than his dick! And now?” He gestures with open palms. “Now he’s holding two clubs, and working on three more.”

You don’t smile. You don’t nod. But your spine straightens, just a little. Like a man bracing for impact—or reward.

Rhett sees it, and chuckles. “He knows. He knows what's coming.”

He turns toward Milo with the slow satisfaction of someone feeding a line to a shark just to watch it circle. “And Milo… you're not the only one whose future is affected by one of the Ladies of the College Spread deck. Might be time to start a club for managed men.”

You don’t say a word, but your eyes flick to Rhett. Just a beat. Just enough. A bout of chatter sparks up in the audience as they try to work out what is meant. You feel the eyes of every opponent boring into your soul.

The screen begins to shift behind him. Rhett steps back with a flourish, teeth flashing. “Let’s roll the footage. Starting with a girl who knows exactly what she wants… and how to get it on camera.”

Freya puts down her notebook and kneels before you on the video.. She’s efficient, controlled, unemotional. Her handjob is as precise as a dissection. The camera she set up barely moves. Yours catches the act from the side—just enough for College Spread to confirm the challenge. No theatrics. No soundtrack. Just silence and significance.

Rhett watches the final seconds, then turns to face the crowd.

“She asked for insight, not indulgence. And in return, gave him a score-eligible hand job—on the condition that she could record it. Edit it. Use it.” He raises an eyebrow. “No names. No school. Just the subject and the study. She’s calling it a lens on intimacy and control. I’m calling it what happens when a philosophy major discovers cinematography.”

There’s laughter, but also a few murmurs of surprise.

“She’s already reached out to the organizers for permission to do future sessions. We’ve approved her request for now, pending academic and ethical review.”

From the end of the row, Graham West’s voice is smooth but audible. “And the board’s reviewing it too. I’ll be advocating for it. It’s a fascinating approach—subjective anthropology through erotic performance. Might be the most honest documentary made on this campus in a decade.”

From the audience comes a cry of, “Fascinating study, my ass, you dirty old man! You just wanna see some nerd porn!”

Rhett gives a slow, sardonic smile. “Well, well. Mr. Impossible’s first film credit. And we’re just getting started.”

Rhett waits until the murmurs have started to settle before pacing back toward center stage. “That, my friends, was Freya Andersen—8 of Clubs—and a scene that will be studied for years. If she has her way, literally.”

A ripple of laughter from the audience. Rhett rolls his shoulders and tilts his chin at the fresher’s seat.

“That puts the 7, 8, and 9 of clubs in the fresher’s hand. And if you know your poker hands… you know what comes next.” The screen pulses to life again. “That’s right - the 5 and 6 he ALSO had in play!”

Then the footage begins. Just a few clean, framed seconds. Jada kneeling calmly on the living room carpet, looking up at the camera with a sort of quiet dignity before she leans forward and begins. The shot is tasteful. Tantalizing. A teaser more than a broadcast.

The audience whistles low. A few cheers, one scattered “Fuck! And she’s a 5?!?” from the back of the room. Rhett lets them drink it in for a moment before switching the feed. Now it’s Rebekah Flores. The footage switches to show her leaning back on the hood of a car in a loose skirt and open shirt. Her legs braced wide. Her hands are not idle. The camera’s angle leaves no room for doubt as the fresher steps into frame, lifts her slightly, and thrusts.

Gasps. Applause. One audible, “Nailed it!”

And in the background of the footage: neighbors watching. Curtains twitching. A jogger openly staring. The soundtrack is a filthy beat that almost drowns Rebekah’s panting demands. Almost.

The lights on stage return just as the video cuts to black, and Rhett is grinning like the devil who just won a bet.

“Public Sex,” he confirms, as if the crowd didn’t just witness it. “8x multiplier. And executed with all the delicacy of a Call of Duty killcam.” He turns, mock-solemn. “Jada, for the record, acted as fluffer. She might have found her calling.”

Rhett turns back to you. “And of course, all of that earned our young protagonist some serious points—but also some serious entanglements.”

He paces again. “Because Rebekah Flores isn’t just a Lady of the College Spread deck. She’s also decided to become his manager.” He lets the word hang for a moment. “Which means that she’s agreed to help him in the rest of the game—help with items, research, setups—and he’s going to play by her rules. She picks the challenge cards he goes for. And she might even assign extras. Side quests. Let’s call them... Flores missions.”

You shift uncomfortably in his seat. You do your best not to make a face, but Rhett catches it anyway. He points.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking: Is that allowed? And the answer is—if he agrees to it during the game, it counts. A player can make deals. But if they do…” He leans into the mic. “They stick.”

You shake your head. “I didn’t agree to it. Not yet. She just said she wanted to.”

Rhett turns slowly toward the audience, one brow arching. “It sounded like an agreement to me. What do you all say?”

The room roars. Cheers, stomps, claps. The chant starts fast—“Flo-res! Flo-res!”—and turns into “Do the deal! Do the deal!”

Rhett raises a hand. “Looks unanimous. So unless you want to forfeit the 6 of Clubs, I’d say that contract’s locked in.”

You glare at him, then glance at the leaderboard. Losing the six ruins your amazing hand. Maybe it won’t be so bad, and at least she’ll help you out. Finally… you nod. Just once. Grim, resigned.

“Now that’s settled,” says Rhett, “It’s time to let the scores dance. Fresher, I’m guessing you’re putting these Ladies in your hand and locking in a straight flush in clubs?”

You nod. The cards appear on the screen, the challenges are listed below them. The numbers spin to calculate the value. From public sex with Kailani in week one, to the same challenge with Rebekah this week and everything in between, the numbers rack up. Each lady’s challenge adding to the total for 206 points even before the 50 point multiplier for the straight flush kicks in. 10,300 points rip into your -40 for a total current score of 10,260. Your name flashes bright and roars to the top of the table. Down the line, you see Cassie turn her gaze on you like you did something personal.

“And that, perves and pervettes, is one of the best single play scores we’ve ever had, not to mention the first time anyone has managed 3 cards in one week since Cassie’s championship win a few seasons ago.”

The crowd goes crazy. Rhett gives them time to recover before moving on to the next player. “Milo,” he says, with fake sympathy, “You look exhausted!”

Milo nods, looking very much the worse for wear. “I should never have signed that contract with Dr. Ravensmoor. She wakes up at 3am every morning to grade papers and she makes me bring her coffee!”

A ripple of laughter passes through the audience until Rhett holds up his hand. “I’m sure that was tiring,” he says, “But I understand your real emotional exhaustion comes from something else. And here’s the owner of your soul, my thesis advisor, Dr. Selene Ravensmoor herself to tell us why.”

Selene steps out from the audience when called—heels clicking, skirt swirling like smoke, and her gaze locked on Milo with the patient hunger of a spider approaching a fly. She moves with theatrical poise, but there’s nothing insincere about her dominance. When she reaches him, she lays her hands on his shoulders and bends down to hiss her words into his ear.

“What is it, Milo? Is your Wicked Witch too wicked for your little soul? Relax, you’ve performed your role well this week,” she purrs. “Though you are letting me down with Dean Blackstone - you haven’t even secured a kiss yet, and you’re meant to be working on getting her pregnant.”

Still at least you have fulfilled one of the more important clauses in our little... soul agreement.”

She clicks her fingers and Rhett rolls video. It shows a circle of naked women, lit by candlelight. There’s an altar on the ground between them. Milo stands in front of it, also naked, and before him is Dr. Mireille Du Pont. Milo begins to kiss her lips, breasts, groin, knees and feet.

“Our human sacrifice didn’t seem to mind the start of our Samhain ritual this year. He was quite happy to give our high priestess the five fold kiss which I’m sure we can agree more than answers the naked kiss challenge. But then…”

The scene shifts. Now Milo is tied to the alter and Du Pont is riding him hard. She’s holding a dagger in her hand as she chants something. Milo seems to be screaming as he shakes his head in terror. As she reaches orgasm, she brings the dagger down… missing him deliberately.

“What a silly boy,” she says. “Did you REALLY think the Dean of Economics was going to kill you? We don’t make deals with the devil, Milo. But it was fun setting up this special, one-of-a-time ritual just for you.”

Gasps, cries of confusion, then screams of hilarity flow through the audience in waves. Milo hangs his head and tries to pretend he’s not there.

“Mirielle says she can’t remember when she last gave anyone so powerful an orgasm,” she says. “I think she might want a return performance. Now the question is, can I ever equal that level of fun with you again?”

“That’s a x2 naked kiss tied to a x7 BDSM challenge on a 100 points Dean,” says Rhett as the audience quiets eventually. “You might not have made any progress with one of the Deans, but you certainly scored with the other. Now, are you going to lock the high priestess in for points… or hold her in your hand like Selene holds your soul in hers.”

“Oh, he’s holding,” says Selene, her interjection reminding you all that the decisions are entirely hers. “I’m hoping we can build something special off that card!”

Since there is no update to the score, Rhett turns to address the next player. “You all know who’s next, it’s our returning champion, Cassie Li!”

The audience cheers. She was a fan favourite before she started and has done nothing to lose that place since. The camera swung back to Rhett just as the audience's laughter began to die down. He raised a single brow and adopted a solemn tone, clearly setting something up.

"And now," he says, dragging the moment for effect, "the most shocking event of the whole week." A dramatic pause. "No, not the human sacrifice. Not the dagger play. I'm talking about a Cassie Li failure."

That gets a bigger reaction than anything yet—gasps, whistles, and a few cries of disbelief. Rhett lets it ride before lifting a hand.

"Yep," he says. "She didn’t send in any footage for her challenge with Eun-Mi Park. When asked why, she called it strategy. Said she could have finished a flush right there and then, but figured she'd score better points later—and needed to put the real work in on two others who’d boost her score significantly."

Cassie’s face appears on screen just long enough to flash a wicked little smirk and a nonchalant shrug.

Rhett turns toward the audience, eyes twinkling. "Now tell me," he says, "how many of you remembered to tune in for Cassidy’s livestream this week?"

A cheer rises from the crowd. Since you’d been working on securing the three ladies you had this week for your own hand, you missed it. The reaction of the audience tells you you missed a treat.

The screens flare to life.The footage opens on a bedroom scene you recognize as the cam studio Cassie and Kailani use. Camila Reyes stands mostly nude, curves glowing in the warm light. In her hands she holds a contract on old-fashioned parchment, which she presents with reverence. She leans forward, pressing a kiss to Cassidy’s thigh, and murmurs, “Yes, Mistress.”

Rhett spreads his arms as if presenting a masterpiece. “That’s right,” he says. “Camila Reyes—our arts student who just wanted an audience—has now joined one. She signed a **** contract with Cassidy, and made herself a fixture on that livestream channel from now on.”

Cassidy doesn’t wait to be prompted. She leans forward, voice honeyed and dangerous.

“The contract only applies to the streams,” she said, smiling, “but Camila wanted something permanent. And I do love a girl who knows what she’s performing for.”

Then she turns to the boys—locking eyes first with Milo, then the protagonist—and adds, “And boys… if someone’s giving up power, shouldn’t you be the one taking it?”

The reaction is a mixture of laughter, whistles, and the kind of murmur that ripples through a crowd when someone drops a heavy truth disguised as a tease.

Rhett grins. “Well then. That brings us to the third Lady in play—our favorite behavioral psych professor, Dr. Carmen Alvarez. What happened there?”

Cassidy gives her most innocent expression yet. “We had a quiet meal at a five-star restaurant. Very refined. Floor-length tablecloths, candlelight. She ordered lobster and I… savored a clam. It was all quite proper.”

The footage, of course, tells a different story.

Cassidy and Dr. Alvarez sit across from each other at a posh restaurant. The music is soft, the lights dim. Cassidy reaches for her napkin, then 'accidentally' drops it. A few seconds later, she ducks under the table. The professor tries to maintain composure, smiling politely as a waiter passes. But then her eyes widen, her mouth opens in a soft, surprised gasp, and her hand claps quickly over it.

Back in the studio, Rhett is shaking his head and laughing. “That might be the most secret yet public oral sex this show has ever aired. The napkin drop deserves an award on its own. Honestly, I’m tempted to offer you points for both an oral and public sex challenge just for your style. But in the end, you can only use one. Public?”

He turns toward Cassidy again. She nods. “You’ve got two Hearts in hand—and a challenge with an Empress and an eight this week. You locking or holding?”

Cassidy doesn’t hesitate. “Holding,” she sysd. “This flush is going to burn.”

Rhett nods and turns to the audience with a sign. “And that’s about it for the summary,” he says. “I know, you expected something from both Professor Rourke and our board member, Graham West. Well, the professor struck out once again - that’s the third time in 5 weeks, so no surprise there. What is surprising is our boardroom master, Graham, failing to achieve success for the first time since the competition started. Graham, can you explain that?”

Graham shrugs and takes a sip of his whiskey. He seems genuinely unperturbed. “Some deals are not worth making,” he says. “Something our younger contestants should learn quickly. That was the case with Raven. I can afford a slight setback, there are far more points waiting in the future.”

“An executive decision then,” says Rhett. “And now let’s see who is in the draw for THIS week!”