Red slice.

The gathered group watches in hushed excitement as the wheel winds down, you cross your fingers hopefully, trying not to let your nervousness show. It finally stops on a red slice labelled, "Sheep in wolf's clothing". That sounded bad...

"Oo... rotten luck pal. Here, put this on." The attendant hands you a strange contraption with hanging wires and locks. You regard it warily.

"Sorry pal," said the showman, not sounding sorry whatsoever, "you gotta stick it on here, otherwise we won't know you did it properly. Unless you're going back on your word...?"

The last part came out more menacing than you'd like but you didn't waver in your confusion, "No, I'm not but... how do I put it on?" The showman laughs, snapping his fingers at a passing servant and pointing at you.

As it turned out the device was rather like a belt, though there were certainly more electrodes stuck to your genitals than seemed really necessary. The servant was quite forward about "helping" you, all but removing your pants in the attempt. You weren't really known for stage fright but there were an awful lot of curious eyes eying you up as the servant fiddled around with the contraption in your pants. When it was situated you're quickly led off the stage. You feel somewhat violated.

Well, it could have gone wor-ZAAAAP. You drop to the ground, clutching your groin as a brutal charge channels through the shock belt into your balls and thighs. You hear a cruel laugh from nearby, a confident looking man with a naked woman on each arm looking down on you as he strode past, "I didn't know they offered the shock belts to the men this year, how wretched. Can you believe he accepted it?" The women titter as he waves a small remote mockingly and the three are out of sight before you manage to get your breath back.

It takes a minute but you manage to wriggle out of the contraption in a partially hidden corner, tossing the belt aside angrily. You'd been shocked thrice more while you struggled, seemingly at random until a cruelly smiling face would turn to face your cry of anguish. Each time it was a different man, the last was a woman dressed in dominatrix clothes.