(Female-only Version) Jamie Gets Even: A What Would You Do? Story (Part 1)

I've written several What Would You Do tribute stories, envisioning a spinoff where a wilder version of the show somehow finds its way to late night TV. This is the latest installment!

“You were a GREAT sport. We’ll take good care of you.”

That was the text Jamie received directly from Marc Summers. It had been a few months since Jamie became the very first contestant on the new adult-themed version of What Would You Do. In that debut episode, Jamie was an unwitting contestant brought in to test out the pure cruelty of the writing room’s imaginations.

In what has since become a quaint version of the show, Jamie was called upon to play a rigged yoga challenge, where he tried (and failed) to mimic three yoga poses from Kerry, an experienced instructor. He so badly wanted to impress her, but instead, each of his failures ended in Kerry slamming a whipped cream pie right in his face. And as if that wasn’t enough, his final punishment for his triple failure was a trip to the Pie Pod, where he took five more pies and got sprayed with more whipped cream. To this day, his clothes reeked of spoiled dairy.

Jamie’s personal life deteriorated rapidly in the time since. He found it so humiliating to receive so many pity texts from his friends after the show aired, and even worse to see images of his messy body go viral and turn into a meme. He was 23 years old, still trying to find his place in the world, and this experience didn’t help.

He thought things turned around when he started dating Chelsea. It all seemed so improbable: a beautiful girl, out of his league, someone who brought out the best in him and didn’t know anything about his baggage.

But after a thriving 4-month honeymoon period, the relationship fizzled out as summer turned to fall. To Chelsea, something about him felt off, and one fateful October day, she was out at the bars with some girl friends, one thing led to another, there was a kiss, a “let’s go back to my place”, and by the end of the week, Chelsea and Jamie were done. Only through the grapevine did Jamie learn the reason why Chelsea ended things. He’d never felt so low.

A couple of months had passed, and Jamie’s sick feelings had begun to subside, until he found himself alone on a Friday night, idly scrolling through his Instagram feed. And then he saw it. Chelsea, a new post with a simple caption: “hard launch 🚀”. She was kissing her new partner, and she was stunning. Her new girlfriend.

Jamie closed the app, sighed, and thought about how turbulent these last few months had been. He remembered the last thing she told him before they stopped speaking: she said she would do anything to make it up to him.

Just then, a thought crossed his mind. He recalled something Marc said to him as they crossed paths backstage. “If there’s ever anything we can do for you,” he said, “just give us a call.”

That’s exactly what he did. Jamie reached the show’s Executive Producer, who remembered him vividly. Jamie explained his predicament and what he had in mind. True to his word, the EP said he’d pitch this directly to Marc.

“Jamie, I’ll call you back by the end of the week.”

Sure enough, a few days later, he received a call from the EP saying it was on. Together, they hatched a plan to set up Chelsea and her new girlfriend. It would happen on her birthday, two weeks from Saturday.

Then that text from Marc. “You were a GREAT sport. We’ll take good care of you.”

The next day, Jamie texted Chelsea for the first time in weeks, to see if she’d be interested in checking out “this new TV show that’s taping near me. You can even bring your new partner if you like.” Even typing the words made Jamie want to dry heave.

“Sounds cool, we’ll be there!” she texted back.

Game on.

As Jamie nervously walked into the studio waiting area, he felt incredible trepidation. He was nervous about seeing Chelsea again, about meeting her new partner, about whether this revenge plan would work, and about being back where the worst day of his life took place. And then he saw it: a photo of him on the “Wall of Shame”, seated in the Pie Pod, pie plates strewn everywhere after they emptied their contents all over his body. He had no idea he’d been immortalized in this way, and he once again started to get that sinking feeling.

“Jamie, hey!”

Jamie whipped his head around to see Chelsea and her new partner. Jamie walked over and hugged Chelsea awkwardly.

Chelsea was as stunning as she’d ever been, but also appeared to have leveled up, as if the girl next door she used to be was evolving into someone edgier, a new personality seemingly unlocked by her new partner. Now more than ever, she was a firecracker – petite and barely 5 feet tall, sporting a matching white cropped tube top and too-short bike shorts. It was a questionable outfit for a birthday celebration, but not entirely out of place for this location, with the studio being just off the boardwalk in Daytona Beach, Florida.

Her dirty blonde hair was held up behind her head with a claw clip, and she flashed the one thing that Jamie loved about her most: that beautiful, innocent smile.

With the skimpy outfit barely covering her body, Jamie noticed how different Chelsea looked. Better. Chelsea was already hot, but now she was a honeypot in skintight clothes. What little flab she had had been converted into toned muscles up and down her body: sculpted arms, the slight outline of her abdominal muscles, thick thighs.

Unashamed by who she had become or what anyone thought about it, Chelsea came right out and introduced her partner to Jamie. “This is my girlfriend, Patricia!”

They shook hands awkwardly.

Whatever little self-confidence Jamie had left in this moment was wiped away upon meeting Patricia. He immediately knew she was responsible for Chelsea’s physical and psychological transformation.

She, too, had sculpted muscles, from her biceps to her abs, all the way down to her calves. She was incredibly well put-together. She was someone whose beauty was central to her identity, and who ensured that she took that gift and refined it for maximum effect. Her chest-length brown hair fell delicately on her shoulders, and her olive skin – a nod to her half-Argentinian background – was tanned to a glistening shade of brown.

Her glossy fuchsia tank top was bold in color and in look: it accentuated her perky C-cup breasts and had a plunge so deep that it nearly touched her belly button. She topped off her look with a pair of slate gray leggings that seemed extra tight, the way they wrapped around her impossibly thick glutes (half-Argentinian!), high white socks with a high-end athleisure brand logo stamped on them, and a pair of pristine white Nike sneakers.

Jamie lingered a second to admire the deep cut of her skintight tank top and how it contoured to Patricia’s hourglass figure. She was intimidating.

“So what’s next, shall we check in?” Chelsea asked, if only to break the tension between them all.

Before they knew it, they were filing into the studio to take their seats, each of them making desperate attempts at small talk to not make this whole situation feel so weird.

“So Jamie, have you seen this show before?” Patricia asked.

Right at that moment, the audience began to applaud and the studio lights went up. The famous What Would You Do theme played over the speakers, and before long, Marc came bounding out to greet the audience.

“Hi everyone, I’m Marc Summers, and you’re watching What Would You Do! How’s everybody feeling today?”

Whoops and hollers from the audience greet him.

“This is the show where we play all kinds of games, give audience members the chance to win fabulous prizes, all to ask them that sacred question, ‘What Would You Do?’

“And boy do we have a special treat for you today! I want to take you back to our very first episode, all those months ago. Who here has been watching us from the very beginning?”

A hearty applause rises, though it’s urged on by an applause sign from above the set. The reality is, nobody was watching this show until contestants started taking their clothes off as punishment for losing games.

Jamie’s heart is racing.

“Way back then, our very first game was a yoga challenge, and unfortunately, our contestant that day failed our challenge. But I’m told he’s back in our audience today, and wants a second chance at our games! So Jamie, would you please stand up?”

The audience applauds again, and both Chelsea and Patricia’s heads whip to their right and look at Jamie, who stands oh-so-tentatively. Their look screams, what the fuck is going on here?

Marc hustles up to Jamie to greet him.

“So Jamie, if I remember correctly, when you were here last time, you lost and got hit with a lot of pies, isn’t that right?”

“Yes … it wasn’t the best day of my life, I’ll admit that.”

Chelsea is aghast. She was never told about this.

“So what brings you back here today?”

“I’m here with a friend of mine” – he gestures to his left at Chelsea, seated next to him – “and I want to challenge her to a game!”

Marc gestures for Chelsea to stand.

“What’s your name, please?”

“I’m Chelsea.”

“And so how do you know Jamie?”

She freezes. She wasn’t proud of the way things ended, and she hoped Marc wouldn’t probe too deeply into this. “We actually dated.”

“Dated, as in you’re not dating anymore?”

“Yeah, we broke up a little while ago, unfortunately.”

“Oh man, and you’re here together today, interesting. Can I ask why you guys split up?”

She freezes again. She sneaks a quick glance at Jamie, who has a deer-in-headlights look on his face too.

“Um, well… I met someone new.”

Marc sees a third person seated next to the standing Chelsea. He knows the answer, but asks anyway. “And who’s this next to you?”

“...that’s my new girlfriend.”

“Oh my goodness, a guy, his ex-girlfriend, and her new girlfriend are all here? Wow, this is something else, please, all three of you, come join me on stage, we have a game to play!”

The audience cheers wildly. Jamie has an incredulous look on his face and can only shrug at Chelsea and Patricia, who now realize this entire thing was a setup. Both women stare daggers into him while they walk down the studio steps to the stage.

“I still can’t believe this,” Marc says. “This really is the most awkward setup I’ve ever–”

Jamie is heard shouting something off-mic.

“...what’s that, Jamie?”

“I said it’s Chelsea’s birthday, too!”

“Oh wow, happy birthday, Chelsea! Can we get a round of applause for her on her special day?”

Marc leads the audience in a protracted round of applause as the camera zooms in to her confused face. Chelsea thinks to herself, What is happening right now?!

“So let’s go around and quickly introduce yourselves. What’s your name? What do you do?”

“I’m Jamie, and I work in pharmaceutical sales.”

“I’m Chelsea, I work in scientific research.”

“I’m Patricia, and I’m a fitness influencer.”

“Oh how fun! Well since we have a birthday, we’ve got an extra special challenge for all of you. Robin?”

Robin enters from stage left pushing two bakery carts, each containing more than a dozen pies made of pudding and whipped cream on foam plates. A stagehand joins her, carrying two low-topped wooden stools, which he places a few feet apart next to the carts. The audience groans. For those familiar with the show, they realize: they’re not screwing around. That’s a lot of fuckin’ pies.

“Guys, we have a problem. Robin here has been working really hard lately, and just doesn’t have the energy to get all of these pies to the other side of the stage. So we’re going to need your help moving them. Except for this challenge, you can’t use your hands for this challenge. In fact, for this game, you have to move these pies using only your butts.”

More heavy applause. Many in the audience spent the last 30 seconds staring at Patricia and Chelsea’s huge rear ends, and now they’ll get to see them in use!

Jamie knows basically every game requires contestants to get messy, but of course, Chelsea and Patricia don’t. He is stoic, but they are crestfallen and register their protests off-mic. Patricia is especially demonstrative. As an influencer that cares deeply about her appearance, this game jeopardizes her carefully curated look. She stomps her feet and shouts loudly at Marc, who raises his hand as if to say he’s not interested in hearing it.

“We’re gonna break you up into two teams. Naturally, it’s gonna be one ex against the other. So Jamie, you’re gonna be on a team with Robin, and you’re gonna face off against Chelsea and Patricia.

“Robin and Patricia, you’re going to take pies one at a time from your carts and place them on the wooden stools. Jamie and Chelsea, your job is to sit on them, and transport them to your team’s bucket over there.” Marc gestures to large buckets about 15 feet across the stage.

“If the plate falls on the ground, you’ll have to come back and get another one. You’ll have 45 seconds, and whoever can successfully transfer the most pies using only their butts in that time will be our winner.”

“Now Chelsea, I’m looking at you, and you have an unfair advantage! You know why?”

“No,” Chelsea says skeptically.

“It’s those!” He gestures at her white skintight lycra shorts. “Jamie is wearing baggy shorts, and the pies won’t stick as well to them. So, Jamie, do you know what we’re gonna do?”

“Uhh, no,” Jamie says. This wasn’t part of his plan…

“Robin, please show him!”

The crowd groans as Robin walks back on stage holding a skimpy jockstrap between her thumb and forefinger. Jamie goes bug-eyed. Robin hands it to him; he stretches it out, revealing its rainbow-colored waistband and a shiny silver crotch with the What Would You Do logo front and center. The girls giggle at him with pity.

“Jamie, we’re gonna need you to change out of your pants and into this for our game, okay?”

If Jamie thought the embarrassment might be limited to his female opponents, he didn’t know this show. Now, not only do I have to undress, he thinks. What happens if I lose the game?

Marc prepares to go to break. “We’ll give Jamie a minute to change, and we’ll come back with our Pie Sitting game in just a moment on What Would You Do, stay with us!”

The theme music plays as the video feed cuts to an overhead pan of the audience. Commercial.

“Jamie, you asshole, you set us up!” Chelsea shouts angrily.

“You said you’d make it up to me!” Jamie retorted.

Jamie follows Marci, a stagehand, to the back where he mutters to himself about how Marc did him dirty. He angrily removes his clothes one by one. He knows about the show’s edgier bent nowadays, and silently prays that this is the only time his dick will be exposed today. He fumbles with the What Would You Do-branded jockstrap until it’s on his body securely, the shiny silver crotch looking even more embarrassing now that it’s the only thing covering him up.

Marci holds him offstage while Marc counts the show back in. He’s greeted by a bed of applause.

“Welcome back to What Would You Do! We’re about to play our Pie Sitting game, and we’ve got everyone here but– wait, we’re missing Jamie. Jamie, could you please join us?”

The audience ohhhhs as they see Jamie wearing nothing but the shiny jockstrap. Chelsea and Patricia cover their mouths in amusement as they take in the sight. They snicker underneath their hands. Because Jamie re-entered from behind the cameras, his ass crack is in plain view as he strides. The cameras don’t miss the opportunity to zoom right in on it. Jamie is visibly irritated now that he is the one somehow wearing the fewest clothes.

“Well Jamie, I’ve seen you covered in pies, and I can say for sure that right now you’ve never looked better.”

Jamie rolls his eyes.

“Okay, let’s get you all into position! Robin and Patricia, you’re setting the pies, Jamie and Chelsea, you’re sitting on ‘em and moving them to the buckets across the stage. Most pies in 45 seconds wins!”

Two cameramen get in place behind the contestants to get an unobstructed view of Jamie and Chelsea’s asses squashing the pies. They zoom in extra tight to get the shot. Their butts look so clean, so plump, Chelsea’s inside her white skintight shorts, Jamie’s totally exposed.

“On your mark! Get set! GO!!”

Lively music begins playing and the audience cheers heartily as both contestants drop their butts into their first desserts. Chelsea squeals as she feels pie cream working its way into her shorts. Beneath the yoga pants is nothing but a thin thong, leaving her very little protection against the gooey pie.

Jamie, by contrast, has no protection at all. He moans at the sensation of cold cream and lemon pudding smothering his skin.

As Chelsea stands, she instinctively moves her hands behind to hold the pie in place. Marc calls her out for cheating and tells her to start again. She knocks her pie to the floor, revealing a huge stain on her ass from the white whipped cream and beige butterscotch pudding.

Meanwhile, Jamie is already working his way across the stage. He’s halfway across when he hears another scream: Chelsea’s butt flattening another pie.

She stands again and the plate immediately falls off, revealing that this pie was made of chocolate pudding. The beige, brown and white colors are already mixing into a swirl.

By now, Jamie has dropped off his first pie and is hustling back to pick up another. Audience members are pointing at his pie-smeared ass, jiggling and dripping excess pie as he trots.

Chelsea yelps an orgasmic “ohhhh” as she plops her big butt into her third pie. Once again, the moment she stands up, the plate falls on the floor, leaving behind another thin layer of dessert on her butt and the backs of her thighs.

Jamie lands on another pie, stands back up and tiptoes across the stage a second time.

Chelsea’s frustration mounts, and she angrily mashes her ass into a fourth pie. This time, she stands and takes two steps, but the plate falls yet again. A coating of yellow lemon pudding mixes with the others, making her shorts even more slippery and the job even harder.

Patricia is getting frustrated, though she recognizes the problem. Giant globs of pie are all over the stool and on the floor surrounding it. As Chelsea returns to the stool, Patricia yells, “YOU’RE SITTING TOO HARD!”

She puts down another pie, and Chelsea squashes it again, this time a little more gently. It does the trick. Chelsea shimmies across the stage, catching eyes with Jamie along the way, who’s already on his way back after depositing a second pie in his bucket.

“25 seconds!” Marc yells.

Chelsea successfully reaches her bucket, shimmies until the plate drops, and sprints back.

At that moment, she spots Jamie slipping on some pie on the ground and falling cartoonishly on his ass.

“Ahh, fuck!” he shouts. The pain of landing on his tailbone really hurts. He tries to take a second to compose himself, but in that instant, he sees Chelsea pass him and sit on another pie. He wills himself to his feet, gets to the stool, and drops his rear end onto another pie.

Chelsea stands and takes a few steps across the stage with her next pie, but hears Patricia yelling at her.

“COME BACK! IT FELL!”

Chelsea didn’t even feel that. She returns to the stool, and Patricia continues shouting at her.

“WIPE YOUR ASS! WIPE!”

All the slop on her shorts have made them too slippery to stick a pie onto. The cameras make sure to zoom all the way in as Chelsea takes her hands and rubs them up her butt cheeks, from her thighs to her hips. She flings the cream on her hands to the floor, and the cameras catch her ass cheeks wobble ever so slightly inside her shorts. Suddenly, she drops her hips and flattens another pie.

Jamie’s slip has swung the tide. He makes it about three-quarters of the way to the buckets with his third pie before it falls to the floor, forcing him to return for another. Once again, his bare ass bounces, this time covered in the double-white of vanilla pudding and Cool Whip.

Meanwhile, Chelsea eases her way to the buckets and deposits her second pie. She makes it halfway back when she spots Jamie sinking his butt into another one. They cross paths just a couple of feet from the stools when Marc yells–

“10 seconds!”

Jamie knows that this is his last pie, so he actually slows down to ensure he doesn’t lose it.

The crowd reaches a fever pitch as they see a close-up of Chelsea’s shorts disappearing into another pie. But this one was a dud! As her butt sinks into it, cream shoots in all directions, but so does a deluge of chocolate syrup, a filling too watery to allow the plate to stick.

But Chelsea doesn’t realize this until too late. She stands up, the plate falls right to the floor and leaves a trail of black oozing down her butt and the back of her thighs.

THREE! TWO! ONE!

Patricia desperately places another pie on the seat and Chelsea’s ass crushes it.

BUZZ!

Chelsea rises to her feet, and yet again, the plate pathetically falls off, leaving behind another trail of mess on her white shorts, which are now ruined.

On the far side of the stage, Jamie’s hands are above his head in victory, looking ridiculous with pie all over his unclothed ass and splatters all over his torso and back from when he hit the ground. Nevertheless, his 3 pies were enough to win the game.

“That’s it!” Marc exclaims. “Stop right there!”

The audience applauds. Marc, Chelsea, and Patricia all make their way over to Jamie and the buckets.

“In Chelsea’s bucket, let’s see. We’ve got one, two. Two pies for Chelsea, let’s have a round of applause!”

The crowd obliges.

“And in Jamie’s bucket, we’ve got one, two, three! Congratulations Jamie, you are our winner!”

A huge round of applause erupts. Unlike in past games, there were no natural bad guys in this game, but as the aggrieved ex, Jamie was the most sympathetic character of the three.

“So how does it feel to finally win a game?” Marc asks him.

“Honestly, I’m just relieved,” Jamie responds.

“Well, now that the game’s over, I hate to break it to you, but you had a little extra help.

“You see Jamie, the pies you sat on were just slightly different from the ones Chelsea sat on.”

Robin has joined the group at the buckets, carrying one pie in each hand, one from Jamie’s cart, and one from Chelsea’s. She hands them to Marc, who holds the plates at the edges and tips them at an angle. Jamie’s pie stayed mostly intact. But the filling from Chelsea’s slides right off with a giant splatter on the floor.

OHHHHH goes the crowd. Jamie’s pies were made of a stickier pie filling than Chelsea’s. For a second time, Patricia lodges her complaints, and this time, Chelsea has joined her.

Marc is unsympathetic to the ladies’ constant complaining. “Patricia, you’re a real brat, you know that?”

“It’s not fair!” Patricia retorts. “He cheated!”

“I’m sorry, but you lost!” Marc says. “And to be honest, this was really going to be a challenge just between Chelsea and Jamie, but your whining has given me no choice.

“Jamie, I know we caused you a lot of grief last time you were on the show, and we wanted to apologize for that.

“I also know that these two have probably caused you even more grief. So what do you say, do you wanna pie ‘em?”

The crowd roars, drowning out Jamie’s gleeful response.

Robin wheels out a third cart containing four more pies on it, causing both Chelsea and Patricia to shout “Noooo” in despair. These are even larger than the ones Jamie and Chelsea sat on, and have proper tins and pie fillings. Robin takes two and hands them to Jamie.

Marc ratchets up the tension. “Now Jamie, since this was a pie sitting game and Miss Peloton and Mrs. Peloton failed, I think it’s only right we hit ‘em in their faces AND their butts, what do you say?”

Cheers from the audience again nearly drown out Jamie’s response.

With a pie in each hand, Jamie approaches his targets menacingly. He says something inaudible.

“What was that, Jamie?”

“I said I’m REALLY gonna enjoy this!”

“Well ladies, you didn’t win the challenge, now you have to pay the consequences. Audience, it’s time to see Jamie get a little revenge on his ex and her new girlfriend. On the count of three Jamie, let ‘em have it!

ONE! TWO! THREE!

PLOONK! A silly sound effect plays in the studio as Jamie cocks his arms back and clobbers Chelsea and Patricia with the massive cream pies.

Patricia shrieks on impact, her body convulsing as Jamie clobbers her right between the eyes. Her hands shoot up, and her boobs wobble noticeably from the force and the suddenness of the hit. Jamie grinds the pie into her face before sending it over her head and into her brown hair, revealing Patricia’s utterly shocked face and wide open mouth. Cherry pie filling oozes onto her chest, falling between her breasts and the space left exposed by her deep v-neck top.

Chelsea freaked out in a similarly theatrical manner, her shoulders shooting skyward as the pie smacked her. Her pretty smile was wiped out in an instant, replaced with a disgusting mix of soupy blueberry filling, pie crust and Cool Whip. Her lovely blonde hair gets demolished on impact, and the claw clip holding it in place gets sent to the ground when Jamie overenthusiastically runs the pie over her head and down the back. To make matters worse, whole blueberries and viscous dark syrup drip down her body, leaving stains on her immaculate white tube top. Patricia’s mouth was wide open in shock, but Chelsea’s is open even wider.

Marc hands Jamie another pie. Robin takes Patricia by the shoulders and spins her around. “Turn around honey, let’s see that big butt of yours!”

Marc eggs him on. “On the count of three Jamie, show Patricia her reward for all of those squats in the gym!”

ONE! TWO! THREE!

BLOOK! Another hokey sound plays as Jamie gives Patricia’s tight ass a massive pie spanking. Patricia screams from the sensation of the hit and shuffles her feet forward from the force. Whipped cream shoots out in all directions as Jamie rubs the pie around, coating Patricia’s tight gray leggings in gooey muck. After what seems like forever to Patricia, Jamie finally relents and frisbees the pie tin into her lower back.

And then it was Chelsea’s turn. Just like with Patricia, Robin takes Chelsea by the shoulders and turns her around, allowing the cameras to zoom in on her pie-splattered bike shorts. They’ve begun to creep up her butt, giving her a large wedgie and giving Jamie a juicy target.

“On the count of three Jamie, you know what to do!”

ONE! TWO! THREE!

GLOOP! Chelsea lets out a squeal of her own as Jamie wrecks her firm little butt. What little white remained on the back of her shorts gets ruined by the combination of thick cherry pie filling and whipped cream. Jamie takes extra pleasure in rubbing it in, smearing it up and down at least a half dozen times before letting the mangled pie tin clatter to the floor. Jamie takes his bare hand and smacks Chelsea’s messy butt for good measure. She squeals. Before walking away, he wipes his messy hand on her bare lower back.

The crowd is going nuts at the destruction caused by just four pies.

“So Chelsea,” Marc says, “Has this been your best birthday ever, or what?”

“This is so gross!” she whines.

“Well, since it’s your birthday, we’ve actually got an extra special gift for you and your girlfriend, you wanna know what it is?”

“I’m not interested!”

“Fine, I won’t tell you then. How about you, Jamie, do YOU wanna know what it is?

“Hell yeah I do!” says Jamie.

“Other couples might, I dunno, go to a nice restaurant, or maybe go sing karaoke or something. But here on What Would You Do, we do birthdays a little differently. So Chelsea, we’re gonna send you to the Human Fondue and Patricia, you’re going to the Torture Machine! Let’s go, the two of you!”

This seemed inevitable to the audience, but they lose their minds anyway. Marci reappears and escorts Patricia to the Torture Chamber, the combo Pie Pod/Pie Wash device armed with restraints for the victim.

Meanwhile, Chelsea is set to be the first victim of the Human Fondue. Robin walks her over to a device situated next to the Torture Machine. It consists of a large platform about eight feet off the ground, with little perforations in the floor for some reason.

Three giant bowls stacked vertically are suspended above the center of the platform. Together, they vaguely resemble the original What Would You Do’s “Pie in the Sky” device, except instead of only one bowl being filled with goo, each bowl is filled with several gallons of chocolate syrup, bubbling like a fondue fountain. The victim is meant to stand directly beneath it, allowing the fondue fountain to empty its contents all over them.

A stepladder from the stage floor leads up to the platform, and Robin gently nudges Chelsea to climb it. She obliges and stands in the center, underneath the fountain. She looks up at the trap door of the device, knowing that it is the only thing keeping her from a sticky demise.

Even though her white tube top and white bike shorts are stained, Chelsea thinks it might not be permanent. But she recognizes that what’s about to happen will definitely ruin them for good. So she makes a snap decision.

“WAIT!” She shouts off-mic. “I don’t wanna get my clothes ruined!”

Marc mocks her logic. “Chelsea, you’re covered in pie.”

But Robin seizes the opportunity, for both contestants. She grabs the microphone from Marc. “Chelsea, if you don’t want to ruin your clothes, you can totally take them off. Actually, that’s a great idea. Audience, what do you think? Should we have both ladies get down to their underwear?”

Owing to its increasing cultural cache, the show recently gained permission to use an edgy punk song whenever contestants were made to strip. The loud riffs of The Donnas’ “Take It Off” played over the PA as the crowd cheered until their chants coalesced. TAKE IT OFF! TAKE IT OFF! TAKE IT OFF!

The attention shifts to Patricia in the Torture Machine as she reluctantly begins removing her clothes. She takes off her skintight tank top to reveal a beige bralette, which, as the same color as her skin, makes her look basically nude, with her nipples poking through the fabric. Then, she removes her pie-splattered gray yoga pants to reveal black bikini-style underwear. A camera zooms in on her gorgeous body – her perfect suntan, her toned build, the view of barely anything covering her. She resigns herself to this humiliating experience, unsure of what exactly this array of arms and nozzles are about to do to her. Marci straps her into the machine.

Chelsea suddenly remembers that she is wearing absolutely nothing underneath her tube top. She waves off Robin’s gestures, and the crowd’s chants, and the audience starts to boo her. (It was her idea!) They eventually settle down, knowing they can’t change her mind.

Marc hands Jamie a remote control with two buttons on it. Jamie is beaming from ear to ear.

“Alright, Jamie. On the count of three, I want you to hit the top button on this device, and 20 gallons of chocolate syrup are going to be dumped all over Chelsea. Here we go!”

ONE! TWO! THREE!

Chelsea clenches her fists and holds them tight to her body, bracing for impact. Jamie mashes the button with vigor, and at first, nothing happens. But just when Chelsea thinks perhaps a malfunction has saved her, she looks up at the trap door, and that’s when it happens.

The bubbling chocolate fondue fountain stops churning and the trap door suddenly releases, unloading the contents of the fountain all over poor Chelsea, a deluge of chocolate blasting her right in her messy face and gushing down her body like a tidal wave.

She screams momentarily, before being forced into silence as a slurry of fudge instantly fills her mouth. The next thing we see is that same deluge of chocolate flooding back out of her mouth as she fights for air.

Though she declined to take her clothes off, the force of the chocolate acts like an invisible hand, tugging at her formerly white tube top. Chelsea doesn’t feel the tugging until it’s too late; the chocolate is persistent and finally wins as the tube top slides right off her breasts and down to her waist. The crowd cheers in victory as the camera zooms in on her exposed tits. She grabs at the tank top to try to pull it back on, but she’s fighting a flow of chocolate, so she finally gives up and desperately covers her breasts with her hands.

Eventually the flow reaches a trickle and the deluge comes to an end. The audience goes crazy about the carnage. Chelsea is a topless monster covered in black syrup, dripping chocolate from every imaginable angle.

When Chelsea started dating Patricia, she picked up a lot of Patricia’s habits, including her penchant for wearing expensive clothes. The yoga pants that Patricia got pie spanked in were from Alo, a high-end athleisure brand, and so was Chelsea’s all-white (well, formerly all-white) outfit. After the chocolate deluge, her tube top was unsalvageable, but her white shorts might still be saved.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, she thought. But I can’t afford to replace all this.

With one hand still covering her breasts, she starts to remove her shorts, revealing a skimpy thong that left little to the imagination. The audience is beside themselves! Without being prompted, Chelsea just started taking clothes off! They lose their minds yet again.

She holds her shorts out in front of her and starts walking back toward the stepladder. She steps beyond the puddle of chocolate surrounding her and–

“Hang on, Chelsea!” Marc shouts. “We’re not done with you!”

Chelsea shouts “Come the fuck on!” She steps back into the center of the platform, in the midst of the pooled chocolate, her shorts still in one hand, her breasts still in the other, standing there basically nude.

“We have one last thing for you. Guys?”

With that, all but a small portion of the platform on which Chelsea is standing pulls back to reveal a see-through platform underneath.

Beneath the platform is a sea of brown. Even more chocolate sauce. Chelsea is now essentially in a chocolate syrup dunk tank, just waiting for the floor to drop beneath her. She realizes that those bowls weren’t why this device is called the Human Fondue. THIS bit is the Human Fondue. She’s the marshmallow about to get dunked into a chocolate fountain.

Is this overkill? Marc thinks to himself. He goes off-script to try and give Chelsea an out.

“Chelsea,” he says. “I’ll give you one last chance to save yourself. You just have to answer one question about your ex-boyfriend here and we won’t dunk you, okay?

“When Jamie was on the show last time, he lost a challenge and got a bunch of pies thrown in his face. How many pies did Jamie get?”

OHHHHH goes the audience. They know she had never even heard of this show before today, let alone that her ex-boyfriend was on it or that he got pied for losing. She has absolutely no idea, and she knows it.

“Fuck!” She yells.

A few seconds pass. “Need an answer!”, Marc says.

“Five seconds!”

FIVE! The audience shouts.

FOUR!

THREE!

TWO!

“Ten!” Chelsea shouts. “Ten!”

Without even another word, Jamie slams the second button on his remote control.

Chelsea screams as the floor falls out from beneath her, plunging her into the muck. As everyone in a dunk tank does, her hands fly up in the air, exposing her breasts to the world for a brief second. Her shorts fall out of her hand and into the chocolate, rendering the whole stripping sacrifice moot.

But most importantly, Chelsea hits the chocolate hard, and her slender body goes completely under. Her muscular calves. Her toned ass. Her hard abs. Her perky bare breasts. Her pie-smothered face. Her flowing blonde hair. Chocolate splashes in all directions. Patricia, seated in the Torture Machine looks on in horror.

Chelsea disappears for two or three seconds before resurfacing, spitting chocolate before dropping her mouth wide open in shock. She doesn’t know how to process all of these sensations. On one hand, she is topless in front of all of America, wearing just a thong in a vat of chocolate syrup. On the other hand, the chocolate is warm and not entirely unpleasant. She licks her lips and is at once delighted and repulsed with how sickly sweet the syrup tastes.

She gets a standing ovation but gets no help in leaving the chocolate vat. But with no top to cover her up, she’s in no rush to leave, anyway. Just then, her shorts float up next to her body. She curses herself for not having done more to save them. Like her white top, they are now permanently stained brown. Her once vibrant blonde hair is now dull and matted to her face. She runs a chocolate-covered hand through it to move it out of the way. She sighs in dejection.

And after all that, all the attention shifts to Patricia in the Torture Chamber.

As always, the four arms of the Pie Pod have been loaded with full-size sheet cakes, each topped with extra frosting. This time, though, each is a different color: one blue, one red, one green, and one brown, designed to annihilate their victim in a medley of colors. Each one has a word of the What Would You Do name written in frosting on them.

In addition, numerous nozzles are positioned all around Patricia at different angles. A giant bucket in the shape of a crown is situated right over her head. The bucket is transparent, but the green liquid inside it is very much not.

Marc counts down the ritual execution. “Okay, Jamie! We doused your ex-girlfriend in chocolate, what do you think? Should we destroy her new partner, too?”

“Let’s do it yesterday, Marc!”

“You heard the man! On the count of three, audience!”

ONE! TWO! THREE!

The next two sounds we hear are PRRRSHHHHH and a blood-curdling scream. A gun from underneath Patricia’s seat fires its contents right into her voluptuous ass. Her thin underwear is no match for the force of the cream, which concentrates its shot between her butt cheeks, giving her the equivalent of a whipped cream enema. Patricia arches her back to try and avoid the jet, but the restraints around her waist simply will not allow it.

Almost simultaneously, another jet aimed at her groin unleashes its contents. She gets shot right between her legs, causing her back to arch the other way. Both guns work her from both sides as Patricia moans in agony.

And then the cakes start launching. Steve Aoki, the DJ known for tossing cakes in people’s faces at his shows, had become a fan of What Would You Do, especially the Torture Chamber, and the drop of his song “Cake Face” became a staple of the cake launching portion of the contraption. The recognizable “raise your hands if you’re ready for some cake!” lyric played over the PA, but Patricia, unfamiliar with the song, didn’t take the cue to brace herself.

Whether the cakes were made heavier or were just launched with more force, these were meant to deliver extremely hard hits. The first cake, a vanilla concoction, scores a direct hit on Patricia, slamming into her face and pushing her head back into the padded headrest behind her. Her mouth was still wide open from the shock of the cream guns, and it was immediately filled with sugary blue frosting.

The second cake was chocolate buttercream, and it too was a direct hit. The cardboard base bent around Patricia’s face on impact, a telltale sign of the heavy force behind it. It seemed to explode as it hit her, sending green frosting and cake filling flying in all directions, mashing everything from her shoulders to her hair. Patricia’s body shakes in her restraints from the force of the hit.

The third cake was red velvet, which is usually Patricia’s favorite, but only when eating it a slice at a time, not taking the whole damn thing in the face. It missed low, but a dessert of this size is extremely forgiving: it slammed right into her chest, smothering her breasts and destroying her bralette in a thick coating of red frosting. Cake remnants slide down to her lap, painting her hard abs and her cream-splattered underwear in a layer of red.

And finally, a chocolate mousse slams into the side of Patricia’s face, giving her a mini-chocolate shower like the one Chelsea received. Her face takes on another wave of color, though the multiple layers of soft icing made this hit less devastating than the others. But the damage was done. Her entire body was painted every shade of the rainbow, her beige bralette nothing but a memory. She was totally spent from the experience, and glad for it to be over.

Except it wasn’t. All of a sudden, the seat beneath her springs to life, spinning her in circles as four nozzles shoot even more whipped cream at her sticky, smothered body. Around and around she went, the cold, wet cream sending shivers down her spine and sticking immediately to the thick layers of cake all over her body. After what felt like hours, but was really only four revolutions, her chair came to a stop, revealing that her multicolored body was replaced with a heavy layer of white whipped cream. Finally, now it’s over, she thought.

But still, it wasn’t. Suddenly, she feels the force of a deluge of a gooey liquid hit her head. Again she screams, and again her body spasms from the surprise. At first, she thought she got chocolated too, only to open her eyes and see that she got buried under 10 gallons of thick green slime. The dousing kept coming for what felt like forever, but the shower eventually slowed to a trickle, and finally, the massacre was over.

For losing a simple game that took all of 45 seconds to play, Chelsea and Patricia stripped to their underwear (or worse) and got annihilated in front of a live studio audience. Chelsea, still in her chocolatey prison, couldn’t even look at the barrage of mess that got launched at her girlfriend, and didn’t even know someone would just let that kind of carnage to happen to another human being. Patricia, meanwhile, still sat in her chair of torture, still bound, with cake, whipped cream, and slime covering every inch of her body.

All three contestants received a massive standing ovation, and Marc took the show to break.

“Well, Jamie got his pound of flesh! But don’t you go anywhere, we’ve got a lot more still ahead, right here on What Would You Do!”

A side-by-side slow motion instant replay went up on screen as the show went to break. First, on the left, was Chelsea: the deluge of chocolate landing on her head, a tight cut to her chest as her tube top finally gave way, and then the moment when the floor fell from beneath her, dropping her into her chocolatey grave with a mighty splash.

Then, on the right, the many ‘O’ faces of Patricia. First, from the cream shot up her backside. Then from the cream shot into her groin. Then as cake after cake slammed hard into her face. And finally, the green slime surprise dropped right on her head. The edit was extremely well done, with the bouncing What Would You Do logo settling in a corner, both women with their mouths wide open, as the show faded to black.