10
Over the course of the week they tested my strength, agility, problem-solving, endurance, you name it. All the rewards they offered were eventually mine, and I got the most mileage out of the audio/visual entertainment.
For instance, I very quickly learned that succubi have shitty taste in music. As a man who'd once had serious aspirations toward forming a band, that sucked hard. The only partial exception was one group that sounded a little like Hailstorm to me. Most of it was similar to that club music garbage horny twenty-somethings bump and grind to. Suffice to say, no real rock, and nothing even remotely country.
So I was just shit out of luck there.
The video was more illuminating, but not in the way I initially hoped. I wasn't allowed to watch prior seasons of the show they planned to put me on, nor was I allowed to see news of any kind. What I was allowed to see was overly dramatic soap opera-type shit.
It was also all porn, and I do mean all of it. Apparently, succubi considered sex to be wholesome entertainment. There wasn't even a filter for shows that didn't have it, because there weren't any. Since succubi got their food via essence intake they were engaging in sexual activity pretty much from the word go. They didn't seem to have what a human would consider a childhood. There was no contrast between innocence and experience because innocence simply didn't exist.
That said, their tastes were ... varied, and my mental health was in legitimate danger every time I turned on a video feed. It was worth it, though, because I caught glimpses of a lot of other races.
The first conclusion I came to generally was that I was a midget to these people. The typical height range was from seven to ten feet, with some going higher.
I also concluded space was the wild fucking west when it came to body plans for intelligent life. There were a few similarities, by which I mostly mean bilateral symmetry and opposable digits. There were no other guarantees. A majority of species were bipedal with two arms and two legs, but there were plenty of exceptions.
I saw eighty-seven unique species, and there was an extensive porn catalog for every single one of them.
Mauren got annoyed as she watched me watching porn and eventually asked, "Why do you watch this? It obviously does nothing for you."
Her observation was accurate, but I ignored her question because I didn't want the peanut gallery to know I was cataloging weak points for each species. Fun fact: erogenous zones make great targets in a fight. Since I was pretty sure I'd be getting into it with the various species I was looking at I wanted every edge I could get. My research did get me some surprising results, though for most bipedal species with builds similar to mine the weak points were also the same.
Her question revealed something of herself, though, and I decided to redirect by noting, "It doesn't do anything for you either."
Her expression flickered from annoyance to indifference as she shrugged and said, "I prefer my own kind. Zoophilia isn't one of my kinks."
Nodding, I put her from my mind and went back to research. Being reminded she considered me to be livestock was an excellent way to keep me from thinking about her mind-bendingly awesome body. To be honest, I felt a twitch every time I even glanced her way and it was a constant assault on my senses being in close proximity to her. If she asked me for sex I'd bone her until one of us passed out, but having her life in my hands made me responsible in a way she wasn't. If I brought it up myself it would be rape whether she said yes or no because her presence in the cell with me at all wasn't voluntary.
I'd kill Mauren before I'd rape her. Having committed my fair share I can say with authority that certain sins are easier to bear than others. Rape was one line I never had and never would cross. Killing? Sure, easy. Killing was part of living. It wasn't possible to go through life without killing stuff. Despite what a lot of touchy-feely first-worlders like to think, disagreements can and very often do make people mutually exclusive.
Rape was different. You could absolutely make it through life without rape, and I'd done it the first time around with no plans to change tactics on my second go.
I'd always thought it weird that God said no murder, theft, or adultery, but didn't think rape was worth a spot in the top ten. World might be a better place if Moses had put, 'No raping, you horny fuckers,' on one of those stone tablets.
I like to think if I'd been him I'd have chiseled that one in.
Oh well. My admittedly spotty principles hadn't gotten me to any kind of an afterlife I wanted, so fuck it. A better man might take this new life as a second chance — an opportunity to reform, play by the rules and be a good boy.
I resented being told my first game wasn't good enough. If God wanted me to pitch extra innings, I was going to bean some batters.
Maybe that's why I was here instead of some goody-two-shoes. As I glanced at Mauren again my dad's favorite psalm came back to me. He always quoted it when someone, usually me, pointed out how unfair life was.
'In their insolence the wicked boast: "God doesn't care; doesn't even exist." Yet their affairs always succeed; they ignore Your judgment on high; they sneer at all who oppose them. They say in their hearts, "We will never fall; we will never see misfortune."'
That was just the way it was with my family. My dad taught me God's justice didn't come with a lightning bolt, tornado, or flood. It wasn't famine, war, or the plague. When God really wanted to get a dirty job done right, He sent the very worst thing in all His arsenal: a vengeful man.
Later, I'd taken a similar, simpler refrain to heart: "Kill 'em all. God'll sort 'em out."
"What are you thinking?"
I blinked, realizing I'd spaced out, and smiled darkly at Mauren as I said, "You really don't want to know."
"Are you finished with this at least?" she asked, waving a hand at the wall where two creatures I didn't have names for were doing something I could only assume was lewd.
"Sure, video off," I said, and the image winked out.
"Tomorrow you'll be shown to the sponsors," she said.
"That's tomorrow?" I asked, and she nodded.
"You'll likely be restrained."
Shrugging, I said, "They won't be able to show me off if they keep me in chains."
"Records of the tests you participated in will be available to the sponsors. They'll be familiar with your stats, but they'll want to see you in person before they make any offers. Getting a good sponsor will heavily influence how the season progresses. It's critically important."
"Why? What does a sponsor do for me?" I asked.
"Sponsors bid on the various events staged throughout the season. A good sponsor can steer things so those events play toward your strengths," she said, leaning on the bed, propping her head up with an elbow as she looked steadily at me.
I was sat next to her, back against the mattress and elbows over my knees.
After a moment, she added, "Your sponsor will also determine the quality of your trainer."
"I thought you were my trainer, or whoever replaced you was," I said, but she shook her head.
"I'm a wrangler. My job was to make sure you're healthy, strong, and capable of learning what'll be required of you going forward. A trainer is someone who'll teach you the finer points; strategies to help you win a given event, combat skills, game knowledge, that sort of thing."
"I could do that myself if they let me watch prior seasons," I noted sourly.
Mauren smiled grimly as she said, "That'd be too big an advantage and against the rules. Since everything you've done and seen since inception will be publicly available at some point, Lane can't break those rules. Trust me, if she could she would. Even if she did, there are usually twists thrown in to keep things fresh."
"What happens to you once the show starts?" I asked.
She shrugged and leaned toward me, brushing her hand down the plain white shirt I'd won for myself after one of the tests they'd had me take. I also had leggings which were essentially sweats with a drawstring. I had not been given shoes.
"That's out of my control," she said, fingertips drifting over my crotch as she made deliberate eye contact.
I knew what she wanted, and nodded as I shifted, thrusting my waistband down and shuffling the pants off as I laid my head on the mattress and closed my eyes. She was incredibly good at this, and liked making eye contact for whatever reason. Letting her get into my head wasn't something I planned on, so lately I'd taken to closing my eyes and letting her do whatever she wanted.
As I felt her hands on my bare skin I let my thoughts drift, enjoying the physical pleasure as I mentally pictured someone else — someone I'd actually cared about — in Mauren's place.