IQ Drop - round 4

You desperately try and remember what you can about cooking.

"Cup-cakes. OK. You need self-raising flour, caster sugar, butter, eggs."

You look up at the clock as it ticks down.

"Take your ingredients and mix them and then put them into a hot oven for 20 minutes."

The host raised an eyebrow

"I'm sorry, Michael, but we need more details - what amounts of each ingredient."

"Umm 150g of each except the eggs. You need 2 eggs."

With a ping the timer expired.

The host made a fake groan of pity

"Aww so close, Michael, but you need THREE eggs."

You struggle against the restraints, but they remain secure and you feel the flash of pain inside your head again. You stagger as the counter above you drops to 97. The crowd roars with appreciation. You feel yourself getting more stupid and at the same time, your cock swells to its full length within the leather trousers. The pain of the transformation has made you drool, your hair is matted all of which makes you look even more stupid and brutal. Every time you move, you can feel the tight leather rubbing against your cock, which is distracting. More and more you find yourself grinding against the podium, wanting to cum, wanting to have wild, passionate sex. To your surprise, your ass is also becoming more sensitive and you can feel the tightness of the leather against it and the way the seam presses against your button. Every time you rub against the podium, you can feel it rub against you and it just makes you hornier.

"Oh dear, Michael, down to 97. Still average, but not good. And I can see that you're feeling more excited about the whole thing. That's good - you will enjoy your new life."

The crowd cheered and hooted with excitement.

"Now, before we ask the fourth question, it's time for our audience bonus. One lucky person in the audience, gets the chance to come down here and make your life much trickier as well as have some fun with you while you're restrained." The host gave a theatrical wink to the cameras. "So, let's see who the lucky person is." The studio lights went dark and a series of spotlights flickered over the audience, illuminating one person at a time. At first the lights strobed on and off quickly and then they slowed down, staying on each person longer and longer until with a thrill of music they settled on an audience member.

The man stood and raised both hands in triumph before heading down to the stage. As he approached you could see that he was a well-built man in his early thirties. His smart shirt and trousers did nothing to hide his well muscled form and as he approached you could see an eager smile on his chiseled face. The host leapt forward, shook his hand and thrust the microphone in his face.

"And who is our lucky winner?"

"Scott"

"Let's have a big hand for Scott." The audience went mad and Scott turned to them, waving with both hands. When they calmed down, the host turned Scott to face you.

"Ok, Scott. Michael is 30 IQ points down. I'm sure you thought he was an arrogant know-it-all when he came in, but now he's average at best. He can still get his IQ back, but we want you to make it that much more difficult for him. Now, on the table behind him you can see we have various items. You are allowed to use one item to make things trickier for him - how you use the item is totally up to you. You will be able to use one item for each question for the rest of the game. Understand?"

Scott nodded eagerly.
"Good man. Now, why don't you get yourself ready?"

Scott didn't hesitate. He undid his shirt and pulled it off revealing a fully shaved, well muscled torso underneath. The crowd made appreciate noises and Scott did some muscle poses for them. You felt aroused despite your best efforts to concentrate and tried to stop yourself grinding your cock against the podium.

Scott walked around behind you to the table. You couldn't see what was there but soon the audience cheered as Scott had apparently picked something. The host grinned

"An interesting choice. Now - question number 4. What is Einstein's Special Theory of Relativity? Start the Clock."

As the clock started, Scott upended a tub of thick, greasy lube over your head. The slimy goo ran over your head and torso, covering you with slime. Scott then reached around from behind you to massage it into your chest and abs, running his hands all over your body.

You desperately tried to concentrate and ignore your pounding cock, but as you looked up you could see that the clock was already at 15 seconds.