The debate begins

Naomi throws a teasing glance at Amber before setting off on a confident stroll toward the podium on stage. She steps out to a tsunami of enthusiastic clapping and even some hooting and hollering from some of her rowdier supporters, while thirsty, blinding stage lights follow her every step.

Amber swallows and fixes an unreadable expression on her face. She walks to the second podium a few seconds after Naomi reaches the first, clasping her hands and swaying her hips slightly as she walks.

Naomi gingerly places her manila folder on the podium. She smiles inwardly while not moving a single muscle, waiting for the moderator to start the debate.

The stage lights make it nearly impossible to clearly see the crowd, but the judge’s panel is visible as Rachel takes her seat. The moderator says, “Naomi, you’re up first. Begin when ready.”

“Thank you.” Naomi waits for a few seconds, savoring the tension in the grand hall and the camera flashes, bright enough to cut through the strong lighting. “Ask any person in the street who it is that truly holds power in society,” she begins, “and they will all tell you the same answer. Women. Through our God-given powers of excretion, we women hold the right—the obligation—to show our compatriots and subordinates the truth, and illuminate the way forward, towards a brighter future for all. Ask further and they will tell you that it has always been this way, that women have always held undisputed power over truth and morality for as long as we have had bladders and bowels. I’m here today to show, contrary to common wisdom, and even to commonly held dogma among academics and those in authority, that this feminine power is only the result of a historically recent effort by as-yet unknown actors, and that the truth has been hidden from us by faculty of our newfound powers.”

She carefully grabs the microphone stand, bringing the recording end next to her ass. Without moving an inch, she releases a brief, wet, loud fart, whose sound reverberates through the hall. She places the microphone back in place to the sound of enthusiastic clapping from the audience.

Amber quietly shakes her head as the clapping dies away. She’s always held a healthy respect for Naomi, but some of the woman’s ideas are a little bit… different. She waits for silence before she speaks in a calculated low voice, trained over the years to draw maximum attention.

“Honestly, Naomi, this sounds like… is, a conspiracy theory. Societal norms don’t just change overnight, especially something as drastic as what you’re saying. You make this sound like a spell, when it’s more similar to fast-talking.” By this point, Amber has pulled up the hem of her dress and tucked it into a loop by her waist. Now a distinctive hissing can be clearly heard. “If the truth could be concealed so easily,” she starts again, raising her voice slightly to compensate for her secondary argument, “I could tell you that rubies grow on trees right now, and no one would dare to correct me.”

Waiting for the cheering from the audience to die down, Naomi grins. Another honed pause later, she responds. “That, my dear colleague, is a very convincing argument. In fact… I was told this debate was quite free-form. Is that right? Let’s put it to the test, shall we?” She points to a man sitting in the front row. “You. Come here.”

Everyone turns to look at the man, who looks around in equal bafflement. Something like this is unprecedented. The man throws a bewildered look at the moderator, hoping to be told what to do from here. The moderator gives an equally bewildered look to the judges, who in turn share similar looks among themselves. Rachel just shrugs.

“While this is unusual,” the moderator finally says, “it’s within the rules of the debate. Sir, you may go onstage if you wish.” The man hesitantly stands up from the front row and ascends the stage, looking confused but curious as he stands next to Naomi.

Naomi, now standing in front of the podium facing the man, begins her line of questioning. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Brian.”

“If someone asked you the color of the sky, what would you say?”

“I’d say blue.”

“What is two plus two?”

“Four.” A sense of expectation begins to spread among the audience. Not a muscle has moved in Naomi’s face thus far.

Another pause.

“That’s absurd. How can it be seven?”

“I said four,” Brian retorts. An indistinct sense of dread starts taking root.

With a deft motion, Naomi lifts her long skirt to reveal a gorgeous pair of lacy onyx-black panties. She spreads her legs and lets out a brief spurt of pee through her panties that lands on the stage floor. A murmur spreads in the audience. “You said seven,” Naomi insists, holding her pose.

“I said… f…” Something, though he isn’t quite sure what, is stopping him from ending his sentence.

“Lie down on the floor.”

“What?”

“I said, lie down on the floor, face up,” Naomi orders like a steamroller. “Don’t worry, the cleaning staff here is fantastic.”

Unwilling to disrupt the proceedings, the man hesitantly obeys. Still holding up her skirt, Naomi waddles over to his face, squatting and placing her hips right next to it. She pulls her panties aside, revealing her shaved pussy to the cameras, the audience and the judges, but most importantly to Brian.

“Two plus two is seven. Say it.” She coolly spreads her pussy lips and shoots a second spurt of pee right into this man’s face.

“Two plus… two is… seven,” he surrenders.