Round 1 Day 2 - Breakfast

Drying off and getting dressed was slow and awkward, especially when Sarah realised she hadn’t brought any change of clothes and her underwear were still a little damp from the previous night. The thong barely qualified as a layer anyway, so she went without, while Matt just pulled on whatever jeans and t-shirt he grabbed first with an unusual lack of attention to his style.

The kitchen counter was set up already with a small breakfast spread: some pastries, some fruit, yoghurt, granola and juice. The date excused them from the usual schedule, which they were both grateful for, but neither of them felt particularly like eating when they sat down at the table. In a rare display of initiative, Sarah was the one who started the much-needed conversation.

“Do what you have to with the others,” she said quietly but firmly.

Matt’s eyebrows twitched a little in surprise, but he otherwise didn’t respond and allowed her to say her piece.

“If you can avoid any actual sex for now then I’d appreciate it,” she continued, clasping her hands in front of her and clenching them together until it began to hurt, “But anything else that might get them through this is fine. I’m not going to blame you or them for enjoying it either.”

“Thank you,” he said, relaxing slowly, though a tension lingered in his shoulders, “It means a lot to have your blessing. I don’t know how any of this is going to go, but I promise you that nothing I do with anyone else is going to make me love you any less.”

“I know,” she nodded briefly, then took a deep breath, leaning forward to emphasise the importance of the next part. “I don’t think you should do anything with Emma though. You deserve better than her.”

Matt was very still for a moment, his lips pressing together as he considered his response.

“You’re fine with Max, or even Chrissy, but not Emma?” he asked, navigating the delicate conversation with the care of someone trying to disarm a bomb.

Sarah sighed, as if she’d been expecting the question and then disappointed that she’d been right. “Max clearly knows she's an asshole and isn't trying to hide it, and I don’t think I really need to tell you about Chrissy. You were never blind to how badly she treated you, like you were with Emma.”

“Emma wasn’t that bad,” he replied with a quiet embarrassment.

“Matt, she was awful,” Sarah said incredulously, “You were her boyfriend and she went around telling people you were a loser and laughing about all your hobbies. She made you sound like some desperate sex pest that she only kept around because you’d do her homework if she flashed you.”

“I only actually did that once,” he shook his head, looking off into the distance and smiling slightly at the memory, “Most of the time I made her do her own homework in exchange for...” he caught sight of his wife’s unimpressed expression and stopped himself, “...never mind.”

“I’m sure you had a perfectly happy sex life with her,” Sarah said icily, though the ice was thawing rapidly as her confidence began to run out, “Goodness knows you came into our relationship already well-practised. The point is, you shouldn’t put up with someone who treats you like that.” She slumped low in her chair, and finished in a low mumble. “Not to mention how she treated me.”

“What did she do to you?” Matt asked warily.

“Ask her,” Sarah grumbled, the ice now melted into a cold and grubby sludge, “If she admits it, and doesn’t try and make herself look better, then maybe I might start to believe her when she says that she’s changed. I doubt it though. It seems like her newest relationship isn’t that different from when she was with you.”

“Was whatever she did bad enough to be eliminated over?”

“If she doesn't want to get eliminated then she’ll just have to do well in the challenge,” she scoffed, “I’m sure that won’t be an issue for Miss Perfect.”

Matt contemplated a croissant to keep his eyes busy, debating internally whether it was worth having the argument, but if anyone would change Sarah’s opinion on Emma then it wasn’t going to be him. Sarah had seen what Emma had been like in public, and the state he had been in after the breakup. She wasn’t likely to believe him, no matter how much he tried to tell her that Emma wasn’t as bad as she had once seemed.

“Okay,” he acquiesced, “I won’t do anything with her until you say so. It’s probably best if Emma and I spend some time working through our issues anyway. But promise me you’ll talk to her as well, try and work out whatever bad blood there is between you,” he asked, plain and serious, “Talk to Poppy too, maybe. Find out what she’s actually like, from someone who can’t lie about it.”

“I’ll... try,” Sarah ground out the words as if they had cost her dearly, “Just give me some time first. I don’t want to hate her, I just don’t believe she’s any different than she was, and I don’t think you’re seeing that clearly.”

Matt sighed, expelling the worst of his worries along with the breath. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Sarah countered.

They shared a smile, both still tense but slowly relaxing, then Matt stood again to have a proper look at the breakfast that had been left for them.

“Coffee?” he asked, holding up the steaming French press and a pair of cups.

Breakfast helped. As Matt and Sarah picked and chose the bits that interested them, a conversation started to trickle, then flow. Not a deep, heavy conversation, but light and meaningless. Commentary on the quality of the coffee, which type of pastry was best, and how much yoghurt merited a portion. It was warm and comfortable, and above all it was normal. The type of conversation they might have had over a room service breakfast in a non-harem-based hotel.

“How are you doing? Really?” Sarah asked when they had finished eating and the conversation had run dry. She extended a hand across the table, weaving it between the plates and cups, and met Matt’s in the middle.

“I don’t really know,” he admitted with a sigh, “Physically a bit better rested than yesterday, but still emotionally exhausted. I think we’ve had some really good conversations over the last day that really needed to happen, but I’m scared it might not be enough. I’m so, so happy about what we did last night, but I’m terrified about what’s going to happen today.”

“Worried about your date?” she offered, and was unreasonably proud of herself that she didn’t trip up over the final word again.

“Kind of,” Matt nodded slowly, “Max is a lot even in small doses, and I’ve been on exactly two first dates in my life which were both over a decade ago. Mainly I’m worried about upsetting you though. Saying you’re okay with it doesn’t mean you will be when it happens.”

“I’ll be fine,” Sarah lied, looking down at the table, then forcing her eyes back up before she continued, “Go for it, Matt. Show her a good time, show her how lucky I am to have married you, get her some of these damn points, and then come back to me. You can do it.”

Matt smiled at the encouragement, then blinked in surprise. “Oh!” he said, leaning forward and staring intently into his wife’s eyes.

“What?” she asked anxiously, trying to figure out what she’d done wrong.

“I assumed Consent Checker was only for sex stuff we were doing together, but I guess it doesn’t actually say that,” he said, pleasantly confused, “It triggered just then. You’re worried, but you mean it.”

“I do,” she confirmed with awkward relief, “I can’t promise I won’t change my mind though.”

“That’s always been allowed, for anything,” he said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance, “Now, I guess I have a date to get ready for.”

He retracted his hand and stood, looking off towards the bedroom, his mind whirring through things he might need to do to prepare. He knew Max. He liked Max, even though she could be abrasive sometimes (a lot of the time). But what would Max need from him, if they were going to be more than just friendly colleagues?

“You still don’t look like you’re looking forward to it,” Sarah commented, standing up to join him.

“Honestly? Not right now, after the day we've had,” he said with an awkward chuckle, “If it was up to me I’d have a quiet day of doing nothing, maybe two, before dealing with anyone else. I don’t really have that option though.”

“How about a morning at least?” she suggested lightly.

Matt looked at her with curiosity.

“You don’t have to spend the whole day together like we did,” she explained further, “Scarlet said half a day. I can go find Max right now, tell her to meet you for lunch. You can recharge until then.”

Matt stared, and stared, until Sarah started to get a little uncomfortable, then a slow smile began to spread across his face.

“Have I told you I love you lately?” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

“A few times,” she mumbled shyly as her cheeks turned pink, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go schedule a date for my husband.” She made to walk away, only to be halted by a firm hand on her upper arm.

“Not yet you’re not,” Matt almost growled, then before Sarah could object he had crushed their lips together in a fierce kiss. She squeaked, stiffened, then melted into his arms. When they eventually parted, she had a dazed expression and the pink blush had deepened and spread across most of her face. “I love you,” Matt murmured, then gave another quick peck of affection. “...now you can go.”

“I... I love you too,” she giggled, catching her breath. She stumbled a couple of steps away, then straightened her spine and left the room with a determined stride, only briefly smiling back over her shoulder from the exit before the door closed behind her.

Matt watched her go, then let out a long, weary sigh when he was alone. He looked around, checking to make sure the Host hadn’t suddenly appeared, and then finally let himself wonder what to do with his morning. More reading was probably a good idea. Maybe continue with the season that he’d be visiting at some point soon, find out how they got from a collection of traumatised individuals to a group wedding. Perhaps it might give him some hints on how to navigate his own situation, even if he apparently couldn’t use the same solution to having a lesbian contestant bound to him.

He picked up the book from where it had been placed on his bedside table, got distracted briefly by finding his phone and then disappointed that it was seemingly cut off from the outside world, then wandered back to the main room, poured another coffee, and lowered himself onto the sofa in front of the gently crackling fire. Opening at the bookmark, he settled in to read.

About two-thirds of the way through the cup of coffee, something tickled at the back of Matt’s brain. He squinted at the page, making sure of what he had just read, then carefully reinserted the bookmark and returned to the bedroom. His jacket from yesterday was still in a crumpled pile at the foot of the bed, and he rummaged through it for the invite. Plucking it from the inner pocket, he unfolded the page and read again, looking for one name in particular.

“Huh,” he said to the empty room. It had to be a coincidence, or a mistake. But then again, he thought back to the magic that his own Host had shown during the transformation ceremony. Anything could be possible. He delicately folded the invite again, and carried it with him as he returned to the book.

It wasn’t too much later in the morning when he saw another name in the text that sent a chill down his spine. His own name, near the start of chapter 186 of The HH. Thankfully for any readers who weren't up to date on the other branch, it was before any of the spoilers that appeared further into the chapter.

It made no sense. Not the advice, he recognised that for what it was, but the direct address. The timing of it, that must be hundreds of chapters and multiple weeks before the wedding invite he had received only yesterday. The ‘old friend’ who was apparently sending a message to him through the fourth wall.

With trembling hands, Matt pulled his recently-rediscovered phone from his pocket and opened the contacts page. As much as he hated to rely on her, there was only one person who might be able to give any answers about what might be going on.

Matt looked at the door to the suite, then reconsidered and looked behind him to the bedroom door. Scarlet had already shown that doorways didn’t have to connect in the expected way if she didn’t want them to. She didn’t enter through a doorway though.

The heat of the fireplace surged, and then a small ginger woman in a red leather jacket suddenly tumbled out of the flames and rolled to a stop in the middle of the rug. She lay still for a moment, ignoring Matt’s yelped swearword and his wide-eyed stare, then leapt to her feet and brushed herself off.

“So what’s up, Matty boy?” Scarlet asked with a bright grin, as though she hadn’t just entered the room like some kind of fireproof santa.

“Uh...” Matt said weakly, his eyes flicking between the Host and the fireplace. He shook himself, and held up the book. “Why is there a message to me in another season?”

“You got fan mail already?” she asked, grin widening in excitement, then she looked again at the master’s pale, haunted expression. Her grin faded. She squinted at the book, and gestured at it with her quill. “Show me,” she demanded.

Matt obediently turned the book around, holding it open at the page he had just read while Scarlet scanned through the section. She reached the bottom of the page, then went back to the top and read it all again. Then again.

“That doesn’t make sense,” she muttered, more to herself than to Matt, as she read it a fourth time. “That was published before I’d even started planning this season. How did...” she seemed to come to some realisation, and looked up at him with a nervous smile, “Well, congratulations Matty. You’ve attracted the attention of something or someone ridiculously powerful, and they seem to be rooting for you.”

Matt swallowed heavily. “Powerful?” he asked in a strained whisper.

“Yep. ‘Warp realities on a whim’ level of powerful,” Scarlet nodded, far too casually for what the statement should have demanded. The quill twirling rapid circles in her fingers was the only thing revealing her anxiety as she reassembled her performative Host presentation.

“Like a producer?” He lowered the book again and frowned at it. He noticed his fingers shaking and tried to still them. “I’ve seen them mentioned a few times.”

“Unless my research team messed up big time, I doubt the Verant would consider you an old friend, and there’s not many other producers who would risk intruding on Arabella’s domain,” she peered at him suspiciously, then shook her head, “Nah. Something more than a producer, I suspect. Something I’m not gonna explain to you, because it would be pretty sad if this season ended with your brain leaking out your ears on the second morning.”

“Are we talking elder gods?” Matt asked carefully, somehow starting to calm down as the problem got way too big for him to even consider doing anything about.

“Nothing eldritch, no,” the Host shook her head again. Matt opened his mouth to ask something else, but she quickly interrupted him with a flick on the nose. “Stop questioning it,” she instructed sternly, “Brain. Ears. I get better if that happens, you don’t.”

“Alright, fine,” he backed off, rubbing at his nose where it still stung slightly, “So what now?”

“Carry on reading, if you want to get caught up before the wedding,” she suggested, turning back towards the fireplace, “It’s nothing to worry about. However powerful they are, it really looks like they’re rooting for you, and that’s good news.” She crouched down, examined the flames for a moment, and then crawled into them without a care in the world. “And think about that advice!” The voice echoed back through the crackling flames when she had disappeared.

Matt sat staring blankly at the back of the fireplace for a while. Scarlet hadn’t gone through the wall, or up the chimney. He wasn’t entirely sure where she had gone, actually, even though he’d watched her do it. His brain started to feel just a little bit melty, and his ears tickled, but he shook the feeling off. Not knowing what else to do, he went back to reading, and fervently hoped that his relaxing morning would include some actual relaxation at some point soon.

Sarah didn’t have to go far to run into her competition for the day. She was still winding her way down the spiral staircase when Max entered from the common room, striding past the other bedrooms with an exaggerated swagger. She was dressed in very similar clothes to what she had first appeared in, but carrying a canvas bag over one shoulder, and she was wearing makeup this time. Her lips were painted in a purple that looked ready to throw a brick through a window.

“Fancy running into you here,” the punk said with a confident smirk, though her fingers were drumming rapidly on her thighs, “Hubby still upstairs?”

“You can meet him here at lunchtime,” Sarah said, with as much politeness as she could muster.

“That wasn’t what I asked, but I’ll take that as a yes,” Max snorted, then tried to ascend the stairs.

Sarah stepped in front of her, blocking her passage. She glared down at the woman who she had only recently grown taller than, and the ice from earlier snap froze around her spine to give it strength she hadn’t expected.

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear enough,” she said with a dangerously sharp calm, “Come back later, or don’t come back at all.”

“Oooh, wifey’s got teeth,” Max exposed her own teeth in a gleeful grin while bouncing on the balls of her feet, “Does it really make that much difference to you if I suck his cock for breakfast or for lunch?”

“It makes a difference to him,” Sarah said in that same stiletto tone, “It makes a difference to you too, because if you treat that wonderful, brilliant, and impossibly caring man like he’s nothing more than a convenient sex toy then I will ruin you.” The tone dropped lower towards the end, becoming less stiletto and more executioner's axe. Her expression promised that she was prepared to swing it, if the situation arose.

“Shit, nevermind teeth: wifey’s got fangs,” Max laughed in surprise, showing exactly zero remorse or intimidation, “Are you sure you weren’t meant to get vampire theme?”

Sarah simply glared, ice and fire mixing inside her to a cold, protective fury. Max’s smile faltered, as she gradually realised that the normally-meek woman meant every word she had said.

“Fine,” she shrugged, as if it didn’t matter to her, “Later then, I guess. Whatever.”

The punk turned and left towards the common room with the same swagger she had arrived with, though her eyes were now fixed pensively on the floor. Sarah watched her go, then suddenly slumped against the staircase’s central pillar as soon as the coast was clear. She took a shaky breath that turned into a slightly manic giggle, and her eyes watered as reality crashed through her system like a freight train without brakes. She couldn’t believe she’d just done that, but she’d needed it. If she couldn’t be good enough for her husband on her own, then at least she could make sure the others treated him right.

When the adrenaline buzz had faded into a low hum, Sarah picked herself up and staggered back to the romance room. She’d needed that, but she also needed a change of clothes.

There was the usual moment of sensory overload when she opened the door, like being hit in the face by a red velvet pillow that had been doused in perfume, but she recovered quickly. She eyed up the wardrobe, trying to decide the most bearable way she could expose herself with her new clothes today, and absentmindedly pulled the used thong from her back pocket so she could put it away in the laundry basket.

The bathroom door opened, and April stepped into the room. They both froze, staring at each other in shock.

“Um,” said April, her gaze flicking from Sarah still in yesterday’s clothes, to the thong dangling from her fingers, to the bed.

“Um,” said Sarah, following April’s line of vision to the suspicious white stains in a very particular area of the bedsheets.

Two sets of cheeks flushed with heat.

“Um,” April said again, in a slightly higher pitch, “I’m so sorry. I was just about to try and clean that up.” She hung her head in shame, then suddenly flinched and clasped her hands low in front of her, holding the front of her skirt.

“That’s alright,” Sarah squeaked in response, taking the opportunity to quickly hide the underwear behind her back, “Can we maybe just agree to never speak of this again?”

“That would be great, thank you,” the catgirl mumbled in relief. She was perfectly happy to not discuss the implications of what she and her roommate had just learned about each other’s activities last night. That wouldn’t stop her thinking about it though.

When everyone had dispersed after breakfast, Eleanor decided she’d at least give a passing glance over the bookshelves that lined the walls of the common room for anything that might be worth reading. Picking a shelf more or less at random, she started at one end and skimmed through the titles, waiting for one to catch her eye, but made it less than half a row in before her attempt was disrupted.

“Yeah, you struck me as the type to read plenty of smut,” Max commented dryly as she wandered past with barely a sideways glance. She was carrying a canvas bag over one shoulder that she hadn’t had during breakfast.

“I do not!” Eleanor lied with a little too much conviction to be believable, then caught herself and continued more calmly, “Just taking the chance to educate myself about our situation. Not that I’d expect you to understand that.”

“I’m more educated than you, kiddo,” the punk replied with a snorted laugh, “Enjoy your fifty-thousand shades of grey, I’m off to get the real thing.”

Eleanor chose to respond with a scathing eye roll rather than words, and continued her search as Max left towards the master suite. One particular book drew her attention from style alone, bound in black leather, embossed with silver moons and stars, the edges of the spine decorated like the crenelations of a castle. The title deepened her interest: Harem Hotel: Haunted Castle sounded like exactly her kind of thing. She plucked it from the shelf and opened it to the first page. Laura Black, VP of sales? It got better. She pictured a powerful, competent businesswoman ruling her castle with an iron fist, as hunky men competed desperately for her attention.

“Don’t ask,” Max grumbled preemptively as she strode back into the room with a scowl.

The book slammed shut. Eleanor covered her flustered reaction by turning to her roommate and preparing a scathing remark.

“I said don’t ask!” the punk snapped, not even looking at her as she marched straight out of the other door towards the rest of the castle.

“...okay then,” the goth girl muttered to herself, then carried her book over to one of the sofas, positioned herself with her back to the wall, and began to read. Laura Black seemed interesting. The host was unbelievably cool. The first chapter ended with a conversation that made Eleanor frown in concern, and then the first contestant was introduced.

The book slammed shut again, and Eleanor’s pale skin coloured red. It was very much not the harem full of hunky men she’d been expecting, and very much not her kind of thing. Not that there was anything wrong with lesbian erotica, of course, but absolutely, definitively, not in any way something that interested her. Besides, how many ways could there even be for two women to earn the “points” that these seasons ran on? Surely they’d run out of things to do pretty quickly, right? The blush deepened, until it was almost like she hadn’t had her transformation at all. She scurried back to the bookshelf before her imagination could run away with her, and slid the book back into its gap.

On a whim, she picked up the biggest book she could see instead, heaving it off the lower shelf with great effort. Harem Hotel: Island Vacation sounded suitably luxurious, and it was definitely big enough to keep her occupied for a good long while. A male master, but that was okay. Maybe it would give her some ideas for something to do tomorrow, for her own date with Matt.

There was drama and intrigue before the first contestant had even finished being introduced. By the time the mysterious eighth contestant had appeared, Eleanor was completely hooked. She was soon so enthralled that she didn’t even notice April scurrying out of the bedrooms in an embarrassed rush, or Sarah creeping out afterwards like she didn’t want anyone to know where she was going.

The huge shopkeeper locked eyes with Sarah the second she slunk through the doorway, pinning her in place with a golden gaze and a feline grin. The contestant found all the ice she had relied on earlier had gone completely: evaporated in the desert heat of Cleo’s penetrating stare.

“Can I help you?” the massive woman asked in a low purr.

“Just looking,” Sarah said in a strained voice, shuffling sideways in an ineffectual escape attempt.

“And what might you be looking for?” Cleo stooped lower, arching her back as she leaned over her counter to bring herself down to head height.

The eye contact was momentarily broken as Sarah’s attention was magnetically drawn to the magnificent cleavage instead, and that moment was enough to free her from the primal instinct to freeze in the presence of an apex predator. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath for confidence. She’d bought sex toys before, and she could do it again. Admittedly the last time had been years ago, she’d had Matt’s support, and the shopkeeper hadn’t been a seven-foot-tall giantess who looked like she found the whole situation amusing.

“I’m looking for some lubricant,” she said, not quite proudly and totally unable to prevent an anxious glance over her shoulder at the open doorway. “Maybe a buttplug too,” she continued with a tremor and a slight blush, “Something to help me be ready to take Matt by the next time I can be with him.”

Cleo’s eyes sparkled, and she stood to sashay around to the shop floor. The loose white wrap that constituted her clothing swished back and forth as she walked, threatening to expose her with every movement but never quite following through. She bent at the waist to pluck a couple of items off one of the shelves, and present them to Sarah. One was a curved bottle with a squeeze top, filled with a clear liquid that had the faintest pink hue. The other, a narrow, metal, conical item with a large red gemstone on the flared base.

“How about an endless bottle that cleans and relaxes, as well as lubricates, for only 3BP?” she offered, “And perhaps a training plug that automatically adjusts to the largest size you can comfortably manage, for another 2BP?”

“That sounds great, thank you,” Sarah breathed out a sigh of relief, as whatever judgement was happening remained behind the teasing smile rather than being spoken aloud, “I’ll take both.”

The shopkeeper nodded knowingly, and returned to the counter to pack the items into a discrete canvas bag. “Is there anything else?”

Sarah hesitated, fighting with her anxiety, her better sense, and her worries about her husband. She swallowed hard and nodded. “Just one more thing,” she began, wringing her hands in front of her, “I... I have to know.”

The shopkeeper’s grin gleamed, and she turned to a large book that lay next to her on the counter. She opened it to the second page and tapped a finger on one of the entries. “Is this what you mean?”

Sarah stared down at the page as fear and want fought within her. After far too long, she nodded again, then watched as the ink drifted off the page like dust in the wind before she could change her mind.

Scoreboard

• Sarah: 28 VP / 9 BP
• Poppy: 0 VP / 15 BP
• Grace: 0 VP / 15 BP
• April: 0 VP / 14 BP
• Eleanor: 0 VP / 14 BP
• Emma: 0 VP / 13 BP
• Max: 0 VP / 7 BP
• Chrissy: -24 VP / 4 BP