Note: This story was written with assistance by an AI. I provided prompts and edited the results to make sense, creating something resembling a full story.

The arena’s lights dimmed to a gentle, soothing amber, and a soft chime echoed through the space. The screens went dark, replaced by a simple message in flowing script: DAY TWO COMPLETE. REST WELL, COMPETITORS.

“Thank the multiverse,” April’s voice sighed through the speakers, losing its performative edge. “You’ve all earned a break. The sleeping area has been expanded—two rooms now, each with its own bathroom. Active competitors on the left, recovery roster on the right. Sweet dreams, and try not to dream too hard about tentacles. Or do. I’m not your mother.”

The women filed out of the arena, their bodies heavy with exhaustion and their minds buzzing with the day’s surreal events. The metallic uniforms still clung to them like a second skin, and as they walked, the subtle fwup-fwup of their bare feet on the polished floor filled the corridor.

The Butt Witch had positioned herself at the rear of the group, her pink eyes darting from ass to ass with the focus of a predator selecting its prey. She’d been surprisingly quiet since Sandy’s penalty round—not in a subdued way, but in the way of a woman deeply, profoundly inspired.

The sleeping area had been transformed. The original bunk room now had seven full-sized beds arranged in a loose semicircle around a central lounge area with plush chairs and a low table. The walls had shifted from sterile white to a warm, inviting cream, and soft ambient lighting made the space feel almost cozy.

“Well, this is nicer than the last dorm,” Helen observed, testing the edge of a bed. “Still weird, but nicer.”

“April said we’d be comfortable. Didn’t say anything about privacy.” Garnet surveyed the room with her usual calm. “No doors between the two rooms. Just a hallway.”

“Privacy is a luxury we can’t afford,” Spencer said, lowering herself into one of the plush chairs with a tired sigh. “Besides, we’ve all seen each other’s insides at this point. Literally.”

Across the hall, the recovery room was similarly appointed—beds, chairs, a low table with fruit and water pitchers. The six recovering women settled in with varying degrees of grace. Chun-Li was already doing stretches on the floor, her powerful thighs trembling slightly. Mirko had flopped onto a bed face-first, her rabbit ears drooping. Sandy, despite her ordeal, was perched on the edge of a chair, looking remarkably chipper.

“Y’know,” she said, pouring herself a glass of water, “I’ve been through worse. That time I got trapped in the kelp forest with a hormone-crazed sea urchin? Way worse.”

“I don’t want to know,” Maddie said.

“Probably for the best.”

Velma had found a corner and was cross-referencing diagrams in a small notebook she’d apparently conjured from nowhere. “I’ve been analyzing the competition’s structure. I believe tomorrow’s event will focus on stamina-based challenges. The relay was about initial power; the next stage will be about sustained performance.”

“You’re doing homework?” Rouge asked from her bed, one wing draped over her eyes.

“I’m gathering intelligence. There’s a difference.”

The two groups began to mingle in the hallway between the rooms, drawn together by curiosity and the strange intimacy of their shared experience. Princess Peach had found Princess Zelda and was deep in conversation about their respective kingdoms, their voices low and musical. Nicole Watterson stood nearby, occasionally interjecting with stories about the time her son accidentally turned the house into a sentient being.

The Butt Witch saw her opportunity and seized it.

She sidled up behind Peach, her movements deceptively casual, and let her hand drift out—just a brush, barely a touch, her fingers grazing the impossible softness of the princess’s pillowy rear.

Peach yelped. “Excuse me!”

“Just checking the texture,” the Butt Witch said smoothly. “For… competitive analysis.”

“That was a grope.”

“A scientifically rigorous grope. There’s a difference.”

Before Peach could retaliate, the Butt Witch had already moved on, her hand darting out to squeeze one of Nicole’s blue-furred cheeks as she passed. Nicole’s ears shot straight up.

“I would appreciate some warning before you—”

“Warning would ruin the data,” the Butt Witch said, already gone.

Spencer watched from her chair, shaking her head. “She’s insufferable.”

“She’s consistent,” Garnet said. “You have to admit.”

The Butt Witch’s hand found Garnet’s ass next—a quick, respectful pat, as if paying homage to a worthy opponent. Garnet didn’t even flinch.

“Nice form,” the Butt Witch said.

“Thank you.”

Helen was less accommodating. When the Butt Witch’s fingers closed around her left cheek, she snapped her hips forward and the Butt Witch’s hand was suddenly embedded in a fold of elastic flesh that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

“Alright, that’s—” the Butt Witch started.

“You’re done,” Helen said flatly.

“I’m EXTREMELY done,” the Butt Witch agreed, extracting her hand with a pop.

The laughter that followed was warm and genuine, the kind of sound that comes when people have been through something absurd and terrible together and have somehow come out the other side. It didn’t last long, but it was enough.

“Seriously, though,” Maddie said, leaning against the doorframe of the recovery room. “What happens tomorrow? They’ve already put us through twerking contests and ass-to-ass jousting and a literal sex pit. What’s next?”

“Whatever it is, we’ll face it,” Zelda said serenely. “We’ve proven ourselves capable.”

“Capable of getting tentacled,” Mirko muttered into her pillow.

“That too,” Zelda said.

Velma adjusted her glasses. “The pattern suggests a progression. First came the Bounce of Ages—a test of basic gluteal skill. Then the Rear-Mount Relay—a test of power and endurance against direct opposition. The next logical step would be a test of adaptability. Something that requires us to use our assets in unexpected ways.”

“Like an obstacle course,” Sandy suggested, perking up. “Or a scavenger hunt!”

“Or another relay,” Nicole said. “But with more… variables.”

“Variables,” the Butt Witch repeated, her voice dripping with anticipation. “I like the sound of that.”

Spencer rose from her chair, stretching her arms above her head. The motion pulled her uniform top tight across her chest, and for a moment, everyone in the room was reminded of why she’d won the first event. “Whatever comes, we should rest. Tomorrow will be harder than today. The shadowy figure hasn’t shown its face yet, which means it’s saving the worst for later.”

“Comforting,” Sandy said dryly.

“I’m a realist,” Spencer replied. “Besides, we’ve got something the challengers don’t. We’ve been through this together. We know each other’s strengths, each other’s weaknesses.” She paused, her gaze sweeping the assembled women. “And we’ve seen each other’s asses, which means there’s no room for pretense.”

“Is that a good thing?” Peach asked.

“I think so. Now get some sleep.”

The groups slowly separated, retreating to their respective rooms. But even as they settled into their beds, the conversation continued—low voices drifting across the hallway, trading theories and jokes and nervous reassurances.

And the Butt Witch, true to form, made one last pass through both rooms, her hands darting out in the darkness to squeeze, pat, and fondle as many asses as she could reach before someone threw a pillow at her.

“WORTH IT!” she cackled, retreating to her bunk with two pillows clutched to her chest and a smile on her face.

The soft amber lights had dimmed to a gentle twilight glow when April appeared in the doorway between the two sleeping rooms. She’d shed her announcer’s jacket and was down to just the yellow jumpsuit, unzipped slightly at the collar, her hair pulled back in a casual ponytail. She looked almost human like this—less game show host, more exhausted coordinator who’d been wrangling interdimensional chaos all day.

“Knock knock,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “Just checking in before lights out. Everyone still in one piece?”

“Define ‘one piece,'” Maddie called from the recovery room, her voice still hoarse.

“Fair point.” April’s gaze swept the active competitors’ room, counting heads. “Seven in here, six in there. The relay whittled you down, but you’re all still standing. I came to give you the good news and the bad news. “Good news: you all did fantastic today. Ratings are through the roof across seventeen dimensions, and the shadowy figure is very pleased. Bad news: the Rear-Mount Relay isn’t over.”

“What?” Helen sat up in her bed. “We thought that was the whole round!”

“Please, Elastigirl. Didn’t you see the display screen? Each match was always ‘Round One, Match One,’ ‘Round One, Match Two.’ Obviously there’s a second round.” April pulled out a small holographic tablet and tapped it, projecting a floating bracket into the air. “Tomorrow morning, the active competitors will face each other in the relay finals. The winners advance to whatever comes next. The losers…” She let the sentence hang.

“Pit of Regret,” the Butt Witch finished, her voice oddly reverent.

“Probably. Maybe something new. Our benefactor likes to keep things fresh.”

The bracket showed the matchups: Spencer vs. Butt Witch, Helen vs. Garnet, Zelda vs. Peach, and a wildcard slot for Nicole. The women studied it with varying expressions of determination and dread.

“I already beat the Butt Witch once,” Spencer said flatly.

“And I’ve been thinking about NOTHING ELSE all day!” the Butt Witch shot back. “Tomorrow, I’ll be READY!”

“I’m sure you will be.”

“Wait, I have to fight Garnet?” Helen groaned. “She’s like fighting a wall!”

“A wall that can see the future,” Garnet added helpfully.

“That’s NOT HELPING.”

April let them absorb the information, then turned her attention to Spencer. “Oh, and before I forget—you’re still owed your prize from the exhibition match this morning. The one-on-one training session with a mystery instructor?”

Spencer’s expression shifted from exhausted to wary. “I assumed that was just hype for the cameras.”

“The shadowy figure doesn’t do ‘just hype,’ hon. Come with me.” April gestured toward the hallway. “The rest of you, get some sleep. You’ll need it.”

“Can I come?” the Butt Witch asked hopefully.

“No.”

“But—”

“Absolutely not.”

The Butt Witch crossed her arms and pouted, a gesture somewhat undermined by her bare green ass still hanging out of her metallic uniform. “Fine. But I’m going to lie here and imagine what you’re doing. In great detail.”

“Please don’t,” Spencer said, already rising to follow April.

“I’m ALREADY doing it!”

—

The corridor beyond the sleeping area was different from the one they’d used earlier—softer, warmer, lined with what looked like real wood paneling instead of chrome and neon. April walked in comfortable silence, her bare feet padding against the floor, until they reached a heavy oak door set into an archway of flowering vines.

“The shadowy figure hand-picked this instructor,” April said, her voice losing its performative edge. “I don’t know the details, but I think they know each other. My understanding is, when she heard about you—about your perfect score, your composure, your potential—she was eager to meet you.”

“You make her sound like royalty,” Spencer said.

“Not royalty. Something older.” April pushed the door open, revealing a space that seemed impossible given the arena’s sterile architecture.

It was a garden. A real, honest-to-god garden, with soft grass underfoot and flowering bushes that smelled of jasmine and something sweeter. A crescent moon hung in a sky that couldn’t possibly exist underground, and the air was warm and still. In the center of the garden stood a small circular clearing, ringed by softly glowing stones, and in the center of that clearing sat a woman.

She was not what Spencer had expected.

She was old—plump and grandmotherly, with round cheeks and silver hair pulled back in a gentle bun. She wore a soft blue robe with a hood, and her hands were folded in her lap with the patience of someone who had been waiting for a very long time. When she looked up, her eyes sparkled with a warmth that was almost maternal.

“Ah,” she said, her voice like honey and wind chimes. “You must be Spencer. I’ve heard wonderful things.”

“Leave you to it,” April said, already backing out of the garden. “Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” She paused. “Actually, do. It’s better for ratings.”

The door closed behind her, and Spencer was alone with the old woman.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m not sure I understand. You’re my instructor?”

The old woman smiled, rising to her feet with a gentle grace. She was shorter than Spencer by a head, but there was something about her presence that commanded respect. “I am. My name is the Fairy Godmother. And before you ask—yes, that Fairy Godmother. Cinderella, pumpkin carriages, bibbidi-bobbidi-boo. All of it.”

Spencer blinked. “I was expecting someone more… athletic.”

The Fairy Godmother laughed, a sound that made the flowers around her sway. “My dear, you’ve spent the last two days competing with warriors and princesses and superheroes. You’ve proven that your body is exceptional. But the next round of the competition won’t be about purely physical power.” She paused, her eyes twinkling. “It will be about magic.”

“Magic,” Spencer repeated.

“Magic. Presence. The kind of power that comes not from muscle, but from spirit. You have it, you know. More than you realize. I felt it the moment you walked through that door.” The Fairy Godmother circled her slowly, studying her with an appraising eye. “You’re a mother. You’ve raised children, managed a household, survived the impossible chaos of family life. That’s a kind of magic all its own.”

Spencer’s jaw tightened. “I don’t believe in magic.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the Fairy Godmother said cheerfully. “It believes in you.”

The Fairy Godmother’s hands went to the clasp of her robe, and Spencer felt a flicker of something—not alarm, exactly, but a kind of bewildered fascination. The old woman moved with the unhurried confidence of someone who had lived long enough to know exactly who she was, and when the blue fabric fell away, Spencer understood why she had been chosen as an instructor.

Her body was soft. Generously, unapologetically soft, with rounded shoulders and heavy breasts that swayed as she moved. Her stomach was full and motherly, her thighs thick and warm-looking, and when she turned to drape her robe over a nearby bench, Spencer saw it.

Her ass.

It was magnificent. Not in the way of the younger competitors—not muscled or bouncy or sculpted—but in the way of a woman who had spent centuries perfecting the art of being exactly what she was. Each cheek was a full, pale moon, soft and dimpled, with a deep crease between them and a jiggle that seemed to ripple through her entire lower body when she shifted her weight. It was the ass of a fertility goddess, the ass of a woman who had been worshipped in every culture that ever carved a Venus figurine, the ass of someone who understood that true power didn’t need to be hard to be unstoppable.

“This,” the Fairy Godmother said, giving her own right cheek a fond pat that sent a slow wave through the flesh, “is where it all began.”

Spencer found her voice. “I don’t understand.”

The Fairy Godmother turned to face her, utterly comfortable in her nakedness. “The shadowy figure—our mysterious benefactor—was not always a figure of shadow and mystery. She was once a girl. A regular high school student, overlooked and underestimated, desperate for something to believe in. And one night, I visited her.”

“You’re a fairy godmother,” Spencer said slowly. “She was a client.”

“In a manner of speaking.” The Fairy Godmother smiled, and there was something ancient in her eyes. “But when I appeared to her in a shimmer of light and offered to grant her deepest wish, she didn’t ask for a prince or a pretty dress. She asked for this.”

She turned, presenting her ass to Spencer in a way that was almost ceremonial. The moonlight caught the pale skin, highlighting every soft curve and gentle dimple.

“She wanted my ass. She wanted to understand the power of it—the way it commands attention, the way it moves, the way it makes people feel. And so I showed her. I let her see what the female form could truly accomplish when it embraced its own sensuality without shame or hesitation.” The Fairy Godmother turned back, her eyes twinkling. “The poor dear was so inspired that she dedicated her entire existence to studying the rear ends of the multiverse. She used my magic—a gift I gave her freely—to build all of this. The arena, the competitions, the Pit of Regret. Everything you’ve experienced here flows from that single moment.”

Spencer’s mind reeled. “So this entire insane competition is because some teenage girl saw your bare ass and had a sexual awakening?”

“Technically, it’s because she saw my ass and had a spiritual awakening that was also sexual. They’re more connected than you might think.” The Fairy Godmother winked. “The point, my dear, is that everything here—every challenge, every humiliation, every moment of absurd erotic spectacle—is designed to create material for her. She watches every match, every penalty, every shower scene. She revels in it. And the more you lean into your own sensuality, the more she’ll reward you.”

Spencer crossed her arms. “So I’m supposed to become a porn star for a voyeur with an ass fetish?”

“You’re supposed to become the best version of yourself,” the Fairy Godmother corrected. “The version that doesn’t clench her jaw and cross her arms and pretend she’s above it all. The version that spreads her cheeks and rides the dildo and moans like she means it.”

“I moan plenty.”

“You moan like you’re in a dentist’s chair,” the Fairy Godmother said. “I’ve seen the footage. Your technique is flawless, but your presence is lacking. You hold back. You worry about dignity. Dignity has no place in this competition.”

Without warning, she stepped forward and placed both hands on Spencer’s waist. Her touch was warm and surprisingly firm, and before Spencer could react, the old woman’s hands slid down to cup her ass through the metallic uniform.

“Hey—!”

“Shhh,” the Fairy Godmother hushed. “This is the training session. Let me do my work.”

Her hands moved over Spencer’s cheeks with a practiced, knowing touch, squeezing and kneading the flesh beneath the fabric. Spencer stood rigid, her heart pounding, but she didn’t pull away. Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she didn’t want to.

“You have an extraordinary bottom,” the Fairy Godmother murmured. “Full, round, beautifully balanced. No wonder the shadowy figure is so taken with you. But you treat it like a burden. Like an embarrassing secret that only gets deployed in moments of competitive necessity.”

She gave both cheeks a firm squeeze, and Spencer’s breath caught in her throat.

“That’s not the point. The point is to revel in it. To let yourself feel every sensation, every thrust, every ripple of pleasure, and to show that pleasure to the audience. The Butt Witch understands this. Look at her—she’s ridiculous, she’s loud, she’s utterly shameless—and she’s one of the most popular contestants in the entire multiverse. The shadowy figure can’t get enough of her.”

“The Butt Witch is deranged.”

“The Butt Witch is free,” the Fairy Godmother corrected. “And that freedom is what makes her so compelling. She doesn’t protect herself. She gives everything she has, every single time. That’s what the shadowy figure wants. Not just your ass—your soul.”

Spencer’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

The Fairy Godmother’s expression softened. “You already do it, my dear. You did it when you won the Bounce of Ages. You did it when you praised the Butt Witch during her match against Rouge. You did it when you said, ‘That’s my girl.’ The audience saw it. The shadowy figure saw it. The sensuality is already there. You just need to stop fighting it.”

Her hands tightened on Spencer’s ass, pulling her closer until their bodies were touching. Spencer could feel the warmth of the old woman’s skin, the soft press of her heavy breasts, the unmistakable intimacy of the moment.

“Tomorrow,” the Fairy Godmother said, her voice low and honeyed, “you’ll face the Butt Witch again. The match after that, or the one after that, you’ll likely face me in some capacity—if I know our benefactor like I think I do. But no matter what happens, remember this: the point isn’t to be the strongest. It’s to be the most alive. The most present. The most unbearably yourself.”

She leaned in, as if to share a secret. “Lean into it. Spread those cheeks. And for heaven’s sake, moan like you’re enjoying yourself.”

Spencer let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Is that all?”

The Fairy Godmother smiled. “That’s everything.”

She released Spencer’s ass with a final, affectionate pat and stepped back, her soft, plump body glowing in the moonlight. For a long moment, they simply looked at each other—the middle-aged mother and the ageless woman—and then Spencer did something that surprised them both.

She laughed.

It wasn’t a bitter laugh or a nervous laugh. It was a genuine, almost relieved laugh, the sound of a woman finally letting go of a weight she’d been carrying for far too long.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll try to be more… sensual.”

“That’s all I ask,” the Fairy Godmother said. “Now run along. You need your rest. And tomorrow, when you face that green-skinned lunatic, I want you to shine.”

Spencer turned to leave, but paused at the garden’s edge. “One more question.”

“Of course.”

“She calls herself the Butt Witch. She said she’s been training for centuries, waiting for a competition like this. Is she… connected to all of this too? Is she the shadowy figure? Or related to it somehow? A familiar, maybe?”

The Fairy Godmother’s smile became mysterious. “Now that would be telling. But I’ll say this—the Butt Witch has been searching for someone like the shadowy figure for a very long time. Whether she knows it or not, she’s been preparing for this competition her entire existence.”

She waved her hand, and the garden door swung open. “Goodnight, Spencer. Dream of soft things.”

Spencer walked back through the corridor, her body still warm where the Fairy Godmother’s hands had touched her. The door closed behind her with a soft click, and she made her way back to the sleeping area, where the others were waiting.

The sleeping area was quiet when Spencer returned, but not the kind of quiet that meant everyone was asleep. Lamps glowed softly in both rooms, and the low murmur of conversation drifted through the hallway. The women had gathered in the active competitors’ room, sprawled across beds and chairs in various states of undress, their metallic uniforms discarded in favor of loose sleeping shifts that had been laid out during their absence.

Spencer paused in the doorway, taking in the scene. Peach and Zelda were sitting cross-legged on one of the beds, playing some kind of card game that seemed to involve a lot of dramatic reveals and polite trash-talking. Nicole was braiding Helen’s hair with surprising skill, the Elastigirl’s red locks stretched to impossible lengths just for the fun of it. Garnet sat motionless in a lotus position, her visor reflecting the lamplight, while the Butt Witch sprawled across the foot of Garnet’s bed, one hand occasionally twitching as if fighting the urge to grope something.

From the recovery room across the hall, Sandy’s voice rang out: “—and then the sea bear circled around behind me, and I thought, ‘Well, shoot, this is it,’ but then I remembered I had a acorn in my pocket—”

“Does that story have a point?” Mirko interrupted, sounding exhausted.

“Everything’s got a point if you look hard enough, bunny girl.”

Spencer stepped into the room, and every head turned toward her. She was still wearing her metallic uniform from the broadcast, her skin faintly flushed from the garden’s warmth and the Fairy Godmother’s ministrations. The other women studied her for a long moment, reading her expression with the same care they’d been learning all day.

“Well?” Helen asked, one eyebrow arching. “Are you going to tell us what happened, or are we supposed to guess?”

“She got felt up by somebody,” the Butt Witch said, sniffing the air. “I can smell the arousal from here.”

“The Fairy Godmother is very… hands-on,” Spencer admitted, settling into a chair. “But she gave me information. Important information.”

The room went quiet. Even Sandy’s story from across the hall trailed off into attentive silence.

Spencer took a breath, gathering her thoughts. She could feel the weight of the choice before her—how much to share, what to keep back. But as she looked around at the faces of her fellow competitors, she saw the same exhaustion, the same uncertainty, the same desperate hope that had been building since morning. These women weren’t her enemies. They were her allies, whether the shadowy figure liked it or not.

“The competition is being run by a high school girl,” she said finally. “Or rather, a woman who used to be a high school girl. The Fairy Godmother visited her years ago, did her fairy godmother thing, and this girl’s deepest wish was about asses. Specifically, about the Fairy Godmother’s ass.”

A long, loaded pause.

“That’s…” Peach started.

“Honestly not that weird,” Nicole finished. “I’ve seen much stranger origin stories in Elmore.”

“The shadowy figure,” Spencer continued, “is obsessed with butts. Not our physical safety, not our emotional well-being, but butts. The whole competition—the Bounce of Ages, the Rear-Mount Relay, the Pit of Regret—it’s all designed to create erotic content for her consumption. She watches everything. She gets off on everything. The more we lean into our own sexuality, the more she’s pleased, and the better our chances of advancing.”

“So we’re supposed to be porn stars?” Garnet asked, her voice flat but not judgmental.

“Performance artists, I’d call it,” Spencer said. “But yes. That’s the core of it.”

“Then I’m already doing great!” the Butt Witch cackled.

“For once, she’s not wrong,” Spencer admitted. “The Fairy Godmother specifically cited the Butt Witch as an example. She’s uninhibited. She commits to every moment. She doesn’t hold back or worry about dignity. That’s what the shadowy figure wants from all of us.”

Sandy appeared in the doorway, her tail twitching. “So what yer sayin’ is, we should all be a little more like Butt Witch?”

“I’m saying we should be more like ourselves,” Spencer corrected. “The version of ourselves that isn’t constantly guarding against embarrassment or shame. The Fairy Godmother told me I hold back too much. That I’m present, but not vulnerable. And she’s right. I can see it now, looking back at my performances. I was controlling every movement, every expression. I treated the competition like a math problem instead of an experience.”

“And now?” Maddie asked, limping over from the recovery room with the others following behind. “What are you going to do differently?”

Spencer looked at her, then at the rest of the women, and a small, wry smile tugged at her lips. “I’m going to follow the Butt Witch’s advice. Just… less screaming.”

“HEY!” the Butt Witch protested. “The screaming is part of my charm!”

“Part of it,” Spencer agreed. “But not all of it.”

The women laughed, and the tension that had been coiling in the room began to ease. It wasn’t that their situation had become any less bizarre or dangerous, but at least now they understood it a little better. There was a shape to the chaos, a logic to the madness, and that made it slightly easier to bear.

“The Fairy Godmother also hinted that she might be a future opponent,” Spencer said. “And that the Butt Witch has been searching for someone like the shadowy figure for a very long time. Whether she realizes it or not.”

The Butt Witch went uncharacteristically quiet. Her pink eyes focused on some middle distance, and for a moment, she looked almost vulnerable. “I’ve always known I was lookin’ for something. Never could figure out what. Just… a feeling. Like there was a reason for all my cackling and cheek-spreading madness. Maybe she’s it.”

“Maybe,” Spencer said. “But we can’t worry about that now. We need to focus on tomorrow. The Rear-Mount Relay isn’t over. April showed us the bracket.” She projected the image on the wall using a holographic screen she’d swiped from the garden. “I’ll face the Butt Witch again. Helen faces Garnet. Zelda faces Peach. And Nicole gets a wildcard.”

“Woo, wildcard!” Sandy cheered. “What’s that mean?”

“No idea,” Nicole admitted. “But I’ll be ready for it.”

The women studied the bracket for a long moment, each processing her own matchup. Then Helen raised an eyebrow. “So it’s not enough to beat the challengers. We have to beat each other, too.”

“The shadowy figure wants drama,” Spencer said. “Rivalries, betrayals, emotional stakes. What’s more dramatic than turning friends into opponents?”

“Nothing, apparently,” Peach said quietly. “But I’ve known Zelda for years. We’re friends. We’ll still be friends after I beat her.”

Zelda’s lips quirked. “You sound confident.”

“I’ve got a Smash invitation with your name on it.”

“Girls, girls,” the Butt Witch interrupted, waving a hand. “Let’s not fight. Yet. Since tomorrow we’re all going to be enemies or whatever, I propose a truce for tonight. No groping.”

“You’ve already groped everyone,” Garnet pointed out.

“That was before the truce.”

“There’s no truce until we agree to it.”

“I’m proposing it now!”

The bickering dissolved into laughter again, and someone produced snacks—actual snacks, from a minifridge that hadn’t been there before—and the women settled in for what would probably be a mostly sleepless night. But at least they had each other.

Spencer watched them for a moment, these strange and remarkable women from across the multiverse. Then she did something surprising: she joined them on the floor, cross-legged and casual, and reached for a bag of chips.

“To tomorrow,” she said, raising a chip in a toast. “May our asses carry us through.”

“May our asses carry us through!” the others echoed, and for a moment, the bizarreness of their situation melted away entirely, replaced by something that felt almost like a family. A weird, naked, deeply traumatized family, but a family nonetheless.

The sleeping area had settled into a low, comfortable hum—soft breathing, the occasional rustle of sheets, the distant sound of Sandy’s tail twitching in her sleep. The lamps had been dimmed to near-darkness, leaving only the faint glow of the arena’s ambient light filtering through the high windows. Spencer lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, the Fairy Godmother’s words still circling in her mind like moths around a flame.

She was still awake when she heard the creak.

It was a small sound, almost imperceptible, the kind of sound a person makes when they’re trying very hard not to be heard. Spencer didn’t move. She kept her breathing slow and even, waiting.

A shadow moved across the room. Low to the ground, slinking between the beds with a predator’s patience. Spencer tracked it with her peripheral vision, following its progress as it approached her bunk.

The Butt Witch’s face appeared beside her, inches away, her pink eyes gleaming in the darkness.

“You’re awake,” she whispered.

“So are you,” Spencer replied, not turning her head.

“Couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking about tomorrow. About facing you again.” The Butt Witch’s voice was low, almost reverent. “And about something else. Something I’ve wanted to do since the moment I lost to you this morning.”

“Let me guess. You’ve already groped me, so that’s not it. You want to challenge me to an early match?”

“No.” The Butt Witch’s breath was warm against Spencer’s ear. “I want to taste you.”

Spencer turned her head then, meeting the witch’s gaze directly. “That sounds like a euphemism.”

“It’s not.” The Butt Witch’s hand emerged from the shadows, hovering just above Spencer’s hip. “I want to taste your ass. Not grope it. Not squeeze it. Taste it. Every inch. Every curve. I want to worship it with my mouth until you understand why some of us have dedicated our entire existence to the pursuit of the perfect posterior.”

Spencer could feel a sudden heat spreading across her skin. She thought about everything the Fairy Godmother had told her, about leaning into sensuality, about following the Butt Witch’s example. This was exactly that. A moment of vulnerability, of openness, of choosing sensation over control.

“You suggested a truce earlier,” she said.

“I did. And I meant it.” The Butt Witch’s fingers brushed across her hip, feather-light. “But for me, tasting isn’t the same as groping. It’s like… like art appreciation. No, wait. It’s like Communion.” She paused. “Or both.”

Spencer felt a laugh try to surface and swallowed it. Of all the absurd situations this place had thrown at her, this was somehow the least surprising. And she remembered her own resolution—to be more open, to let herself feel.

Slowly, deliberately, she turned onto her side, giving the Butt Witch better access.

“You have one chance,” she said. “If I don’t like it, I’m kicking you back to your own bed.”

The Butt Witch’s grin was visible even in the dark. “You won’t kick me. You’ll be too busy moaning.”

She didn’t wait for a reply. Her hands found the hem of Spencer’s sleeping shift and pushed it upward, exposing the vast, pale landscape of her ass to the cool night air. Spencer hadn’t bothered with the metallic uniform after returning from the garden, and the thin slip she wore now provided no resistance at all.

The first touch was not a tongue. It was just a fingertip, tracing the outer curve of one cheek with the same reverence a scholar might show an ancient text. Then another fingertip, then a whole hand, palm flat against the warm skin.

“Perfect,” the Butt Witch breathed. “Absolutely perfect. I’ve seen it bounce, I’ve seen it clap, I’ve seen it drive a dildo into a bat-woman’s soul. But to actually touch it like this…”

She leaned in, and then her tongue was there—hot and wet and impossibly soft—dragging a slow line from the base of Spencer’s spine down toward the cleft of her ass. A shudder ran through Spencer’s entire body, involuntary and undeniable.

“There it is,” the Butt Witch murmured against her skin. “That little shiver. That’s what I’ve been waiting for.”

Her tongue continued its work, moving with a patience that belied her usual manic energy. She traced circles around the dimples at the base of Spencer’s spine, then moved lower, following the curve of one cheek, then the other, mapping every inch of that magnificent rear with a devotion that was almost religious.

Spencer’s breath quickened. Her hands fisted in the sheets. She could feel the heat pooling low in her belly, the tingling sensitivity spreading outward from everywhere the Butt Witch’s mouth touched.

“You’re really going to do this,” she said, her voice strained.

“I’m already doing this,” the Butt Witch replied, her lips brushing against the curve of one cheek. “Now shush and let me worship.”

Her tongue dipped into the crease between Spencer’s cheeks, tentative at first, then more confident. She licked a slow, deliberate path down the center of that deep valley, tracing the hidden landscape with the kind of attention that made Spencer’s toes curl. When she reached the tight pucker of Spencer’s asshole, she didn’t stop or hesitate. Her tongue circled it slowly, teasing at the sensitive ring, and then pushed inside.

Spencer’s back arched off the bed. A sound escaped her—not a moan exactly, but something close, sharp and surprised and unmistakably aroused.

“There it is,” the Butt Witch purred, her voice muffled against Spencer’s flesh. “That’s the sound I wanted.”

She settled in properly then, pushing Spencer onto her stomach and spreading her cheeks wide with both hands. Her tongue worked deeper, licking and probing with an enthusiasm that was both obscene and, somehow, deeply flattering. Spencer could feel the wet heat of it, the impossible softness of the witch’s tongue as it explored her most intimate places.

Across the room, a lamp clicked on.

“Are you kidding me?” Helen’s voice cut through the darkness. “This is happening? Right now? While we’re trying to sleep?”

Spencer buried her face in the pillow, torn between mortification and the undeniable pleasure radiating through her lower body.

“Don’t stop,” she said, her voice muffled but clear.

“Why would I stop?” the Butt Witch replied happily. “I’ve got the best seat in the house.”

More lamps clicked on. Garnet sat up in her bed, her visor catching the light with an inscrutable gleam. Zelda and Peach exchanged a look of mild surprise. Nicole covered her eyes, then immediately peeked through her fingers.

“Is this… consensual?” Peach asked carefully.

“Very,” Spencer managed, her voice strained.

“Then by all means,” Zelda said, settling back against her pillow with a smile. “Don’t let us interrupt.”

From the hallway, more of the contestants were appearing—Sandy’s face poked around the doorframe, followed by Maddie and Velma and the others. They watched with expressions ranging from fascination to amusement to barely concealed arousal.

“Well, shoot,” Sandy said. “Looks like Butt Witch is finally gettin’ her prize after all.”

“What did I miss?” Rouge piped up, squeezing past Sandy.

“The Butt Witch is eating the champion’s ass,” Garnet replied, as casually as if she were reporting the weather.

“Hm.” Rouge leaned against the wall. “Good for them.”

The Butt Witch, for her part, was utterly oblivious to her audience. She was too focused on the task at hand, her tongue working with an almost surgical precision, her hands kneading and spreading Spencer’s cheeks with the expertise of a connoisseur. She licked from top to bottom, then reversed direction, then pushed inside again, then pulled back to trail wet circles around the outer rim.

“God,” Spencer gasped into the pillow. “You’re… you’re really good at this.”

“Centuries of practice, sweet cheeks,” the Butt Witch replied, her voice thick with satisfaction. “I didn’t just sit around waiting for a competition. I honed my craft.”

She shifted her angle, and her tongue slid lower, finding Spencer’s pussy with unerring accuracy. The first stroke across those slick, swollen folds pulled a broken moan from the woman who had spent all day pretending she was above such things. The second stroke made her hips buck helplessly against the bed.

“Oh, she likes that,” Chun-Li observed dryly.

“Who wouldn’t?” Mirko muttered, her ears twitching.

The Butt Witch’s tongue worked with devastating skill, alternating between long, slow licks and quick, fluttering flicks across Spencer’s clit. The pleasure built with terrifying speed, coiling in her belly like a spring, and she could feel the eyes of the other contestants on her—watching, learning, waiting to see if the unshakeable Spencer would finally crack.

She did.

The orgasm hit her like a wave, crashing over her with a force that made her entire body convulse. She cried out into the pillow, her hands clawing at the sheets, her ass clenching and releasing in helpless waves as the Butt Witch’s tongue continued its relentless assault. The witch didn’t stop. She kept licking, kept sucking, kept pushing Spencer higher and higher until the pleasure bordered on pain.

“There she is,” the Butt Witch said, pulling back just enough to speak. “There’s the woman who won the Bounce of Ages. Not the controlled, careful mother. The real Spencer.”

Spencer could barely breathe. Her body was trembling, her skin slick with sweat, her mind a bright, buzzing haze of pleasure and shame and strange, giddy relief. She turned her head just enough to meet the Butt Witch’s gaze.

“Again,” she said.

The Butt Witch’s grin was blinding. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

And she lowered her head once more, her tongue sliding back inside Spencer’s ass with a wet, obscene sound that made everyone in the room shiver.

The other women watched in silence, their breaths shallow, their own bodies responding to the display in ways they couldn’t fully control. The tension in the room had shifted from annoyance to something else entirely—something heated and electric and full of unspoken possibility.

“Should we… give them privacy?” Nicole whispered.

“No,” Garnet said calmly. “This is the most interesting thing that’s happened all night.”

The Butt Witch worked Spencer through another orgasm, and another, her tongue and fingers and lips moving in perfect harmony. By the time she finally pulled away, Spencer was a shuddering, gasping mess, her shift bunched around her waist, her ass glistening with the evidence of the witch’s devotion.

The Butt Witch sat back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her face alight with triumph.

“That,” she said, “was everything I imagined and more.”

Spencer, still sprawled on the bed, let out a weak laugh. “Congratulations. You finally got to taste it.”

“Oh, I got more than a taste, darling. I got a full meal.” The Butt Witch leaned down and pressed a lazy kiss to the curve of Spencer’s ass. “And tomorrow, when we face each other in the relay, I want you to remember this. Remember what your body is capable of feeling. Don’t hold back. Not on my account.”

Spencer turned over slowly, her chest still heaving. “You’re giving me advice before our match?”

“Absolutely not. I’m giving you permission to lose with dignity.” The Butt Witch winked. “And also a visual to carry into the arena. The sight of me between your cheeks, working my magic. Let it inspire you.”

The laughter that followed was ragged but genuine, and it spread through the gathered women like a wave. Even Spencer, as exhausted and overwhelmed as she was, found herself smiling.

“Go to bed, Butt Witch,” she said.

“Fine. But I’m not sleeping in my own bunk. I’m staying here.”

“You just said—”

“I said I’d taste you. I didn’t say I’d be satisfied in one go.” The Butt Witch climbed into the bed beside Spencer, pressing her long body against her with a contented sigh. “Besides, I promised the truce wouldn’t involve groping. I never said anything about cuddling.”

Spencer considered arguing, then decided against it. The bed was warm, her body was still humming with pleasure, and the Butt Witch was surprisingly comfortable against her back.

“Fine,” she said, closing her eyes. “But if you start snoring, I’m kicking you to the floor.”

“I don’t snore. I cackle softly in my sleep.”

“Great.”

The lights clicked off, one by one, and the women settled back into their beds, their minds full of what they’d just seen and what tomorrow would bring. The Butt Witch’s arm draped across Spencer’s waist, her hand resting just above the curve of her hip.

“Goodnight, champion,” she whispered.

“Goodnight, witch.”

And somewhere in the darkness, the shadowy figure watched, and smiled, and began to plan.

—

The first light of morning filtered through the high windows of the sleeping area, a soft golden glow that seemed designed to wake the contestants gently. It failed. What actually woke them was the Butt Witch’s snoring—a sound that defied description, somewhere between a cackle and a wheeze, punctuated by the occasional mumbled word.

“—cheeks,” she muttered in her sleep. “All the cheeks…”

Spencer was already awake. She’d been awake for hours, actually, staring at the ceiling while the Butt Witch’s arm remained draped across her waist. She’d had time to process everything: the Fairy Godmother’s revelations, the Butt Witch’s middle-of-the-night worship session, the fact that she’d enjoyed every second of it despite her better judgment.

“Rise and shine, ladies!” April’s voice echoed through invisible speakers, far too chipper for the hour. “Showers are hot and ready. Breakfast will be in the common area in thirty minutes. And the Rear-Mount Relay finals begin in one hour!”

Groans echoed from both rooms.

“One hour?” Maddie sat up from the recovery room, her hair a wild mess. “Is she joking?”

“She never jokes about the schedule,” Velma said, already reaching for her glasses.

The Butt Witch stirred beside Spencer, her pink eyes fluttering open. She blinked once, twice, and then her gaze focused on Spencer’s face inches from her own. Her lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile.

“Good morning, champion. Did you sleep well?”

“I slept adequately,” Spencer replied. “You snore.”

“I cackle softly in my sleep,” the Butt Witch corrected, stretching her long green limbs. “There’s a difference.” She sat up, her back popping audibly, and surveyed the room with the air of a conqueror surveying her domain. “Well! Who’s ready for round two?”

“I’m ready for a shower,” Helen said flatly, already climbing out of bed. Her sleeping shift had ridden up during the night, exposing one pale hip and the lower curve of her magnificent ass. She tugged it down with practiced modesty, then stopped herself. A visible internal struggle played out across her face—old habits warring with new resolutions. Then, deliberately, she let the hem ride back up.

“Did you just—” Nicole started.

“Fairy Godmother said to lean into our sensuality,” Helen said, her cheeks flushing but her voice steady. “I’m leaning.”

“Good for you!” Sandy cheered from the recovery room doorway. “We should all be leanin’! Or at least stretchin’!”

The communal shower area had been expanded overnight, just like the sleeping quarters. It was a vast, steamy space lined with polished stone tiles and multiple showerheads, each one sending cascades of hot water down in sheets. There were no dividers, no curtains, no pretense of privacy whatsoever. By now, none of the women expected any different.

The active competitors filed in first—Spencer, the Butt Witch, Helen, Garnet, Zelda, Peach, and Nicole—followed shortly by the recovery roster, who technically weren’t competing today but clearly had no intention of missing anything.

Steam filled the air, thick and fragrant with something floral. The water was perfect—hot enough to soothe aching muscles, strong enough to wash away the lingering residue of yesterday’s battles. The women spread out beneath the showerheads, their naked bodies glistening in the soft light.

Spencer took a showerhead near the corner, letting the hot water cascade down her back. She reached for the soap—a bar that smelled faintly of lavender—and began to lather her arms, her shoulders, the swell of her breasts. She was acutely aware of the other women watching her, their eyes flickering toward her with something between curiosity and admiration.

She thought about the Fairy Godmother’s words. About leaning into sensuality. About giving the shadowy figure what she wanted.

Slowly, deliberately, she turned to face the room.

Her body was a masterpiece—full breasts with dark nipples, a soft belly that spoke of motherhood, thighs thick and powerful from years of superheroics. And her ass, even from the front, was visible in profile, the outer curve of each cheek extending past her hips like a promise.

“Pass me the shampoo?” Spencer asked, her voice calm and even.

The Butt Witch practically teleported to her side, bottle in hand. “Allow me.”

She didn’t wait for permission. Her hands found Spencer’s hair, working the shampoo into a thick lather, her fingers massaging the scalp with surprising skill. Spencer closed her eyes and let it happen, her lips curving into a small, private smile.

“You’re learning,” the Butt Witch murmured approvingly.

“I had a good teacher. Several, actually.”

Across the shower, similar scenes were playing out. Peach had offered to wash Zelda’s back and was taking her time with it, her soapy hands tracing slow circles across the princess’s shoulder blades. Zelda, in turn, had leaned into the touch with an openness that surprised even herself.

“Your kingdom must miss you,” Peach said softly.

“Hyrule has survived without me before,” Zelda replied. “And I suspect whatever we’re doing here is important in ways we don’t fully understand.”

“Philosophy in the shower!” Sandy called from the recovery side of the room, where she was vigorously scrubbing her tail. “That’s how you know it’s a serious competition!”

Garnet stood motionless beneath her showerhead, letting the water cascade over her without moving. Her visor was off for once, revealing two dark, expressive eyes that watched the room with quiet intensity. When Nicole approached her with a loofah, she didn’t flinch.

“You looked like you could use a hand,” Nicole said.

“I could,” Garnet replied. “Thank you.”

The blue cat began to work, her soapy hands moving across Garnet’s broad shoulders and down her muscled back. There was nothing explicitly sexual about it—just one competitor helping another—but the intimacy of the gesture was undeniable. Garnet’s eyes closed, and for the first time since arriving in this bizarre place, she looked almost relaxed.

“Yesterday was hard,” Garnet said quietly. “Today will be harder.”

“Probably,” Nicole agreed. “But we’ve got each other, don’t we?”

“We do. However strange that might be.”

Helen had claimed a corner showerhead and was methodically soaping her own body with the efficiency of someone who’d spent years learning to stretch and contort. She caught Spencer’s eye across the room and raised an eyebrow.

“Something’s different about you this morning,” Helen said.

“Something’s different about all of us,” Spencer replied.

“Fair point.” Helen ran the soap down her thighs, then paused. “You know, I’ve spent my entire superhero career hiding my body. Loose suits, baggy clothes, anything to downplay the curves. It felt safer that way. More professional.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m in an interdimensional ass competition.” Helen laughed, and the sound was genuine. “Seems like a waste of good genes to keep hiding.”

She turned, presenting her back to the room, and began to lather her own ass with slow, deliberate strokes. The gesture was unmistakably performative—a deliberate choice to put her body on display, to lean into the sensuality the Fairy Godmother had encouraged.

“Look at her,” the Butt Witch breathed. “She’s blooming.”

“We’re all blooming,” Garnet said.

The recovery roster had mostly finished their showers by then, but none of them were in any hurry to leave. They lingered near the edges of the room, watching the active competitors prepare for their matches with a mixture of sympathy and fascination.

“You know,” Sandy said, wringing out her tail, “when I first got here, I thought this whole thing was a nightmare. Humiliating. Degradin’. But now…”

“Now it feels different,” Velma finished. “Like we’re part of something. Something important.”

“Or something deeply, profoundly weird,” Maddie added. “But yeah. Important too.”

Chun-Li, her powerful body still bearing the faint marks of the Pit’s tentacles, stretched her arms above her head. “Whatever happens today, I’ll be watching. Rooting for all of you.”

“Even the ones who beat you?” Mirko asked.

“Especially the ones who beat me. That means they’re strong enough to deserve it.”

The Butt Witch finished rinsing Spencer’s hair and stepped back, admiring her work. “There. Now you’re ready.”

Spencer turned to face her, water streaming down her face and body. “Ready for what?”

“Ready for everything.” The Butt Witch’s grin was wide and wild. “Ready for the relay. Ready for whatever comes after. Ready to spread those cheeks and ride that dildo and moan like you mean it.”

Spencer laughed. It was the first real laugh she’d had since arriving in this place—not bitter, not forced, but genuinely amused by the absurdity of it all. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all anyone can ask,” Garnet said, stepping out of the shower. “Now let’s eat. I’m going to need my strength if I’m facing Elastigirl.”

Helen grinned. “You should be worried. My ass can stretch in ways yours can’t.”

“Is that a threat or an invitation?”

“Both.”

The women filed out of the shower, wrapped in fluffy towels that had materialized from nowhere, their bodies clean and their spirits strangely buoyant. Whatever today held, they would face it together—not as rivals, but as a team united by the strangest shared experience imaginable.

The breakfast spread was, predictably, absurd. Platters of fresh fruit, towers of pastries, pitchers of freshly squeezed juice, and a selection of hot dishes that seemed to draw from every dimension represented in the competition. Sandy had piled her plate with what appeared to be acorn-based granola. Peach was delicately nibbling a croissant. The Butt Witch had somehow acquired an entire fruit tart and was eating it with her bare hands, pink eyes darting around the room with barely contained excitement.

“Today’s the day,” she said around a mouthful of pastry. “Today I finally beat Spencer.”

“You said that yesterday,” Helen pointed out.

“Yesterday I wasn’t properly motivated. Today I’ve tasted victory.” She winked at Spencer, who was calmly eating a bowl of oatmeal. “Among other things.”

Spencer didn’t rise to the bait. She was focused, centered, the Fairy Godmother’s words still echoing in her mind. The other women noticed the change in her—a looseness in her shoulders, a softness around her eyes, a willingness to meet their gazes that hadn’t been there before.

“You seem different this morning,” Garnet observed.

“I’ve had a lot to think about,” Spencer replied. “You’ve all done this before. My match was an exhibition, I’ve never had to do this with the threat of a tentacle monster hanging over me.”

The recovery roster had joined them for breakfast, still wearing their comfortable sleeping shifts. Velma was already taking notes on a napkin, her investigator’s mind unable to rest. Chun-Li and Mirko sat together, their powerful thighs pressed side by side, a grudging friendship forming between the two fighters.

“So who do you think Nicole’s opponent will be?” Maddie asked, breaking the comfortable silence. “The wildcard?”

“Someone unexpected,” Velma said. “The shadowy figure likes to surprise us.”

“As long as it’s not another tentacle monster,” Rouge drawled from her seat. “I’ve had enough of those for one lifetime.”

“Speak for yourself,” Mirko muttered, and the table erupted in laughter.

April’s voice rang through the hidden speakers once more, bright and chipper. “Active competitors, please report to the arena in ten minutes! The Rear-Mount Relay finals are about to begin!”

The women rose from the table, their plates abandoned, their bodies humming with a mixture of nerves and anticipation. One by one, they filed out of the common area and into the corridor that led to the arena floor.

—

The arena had been transformed overnight. The central dais was still there, but it had been expanded, its surface now gleaming with a faint iridescence that shifted colors in the light. The viewing screens were larger, the lights brighter, and the contestant’s booth had been divided into two sections—one for active competitors, one for the recovery roster. The shadowy figure’s presence was palpable, a thickening of the air that made the hairs on the back of everyone’s neck stand up.

Spencer, Butt Witch, Helen, Garnet, Zelda, Peach, and Nicole stood in a loose semicircle around the dais, their metallic uniforms catching the light. The fabric of the uniforms shimmered with a subtle, iridescent sheen, and the bottoms seemed even smaller than before, if that was possible.

April materialized in the announcer’s booth, her yellow jumpsuit freshly pressed, her hair done up in an elaborate style that defied gravity. The cameras swiveled to track her as she raised her microphone.

“GOOD MORNING, MULTIVERSE!” she bellowed, her voice echoing through the arena like a thunderclap. “Welcome to DAY THREE of the Ass-ets Championship! Yesterday, we witnessed incredible feats of gluteal prowess. Today, the stakes are even higher!”

She gestured toward the active competitors, and the screens lit up with their images—seven women, seven legendary asses, seven distinct styles of combat.

“The Rear-Mount Relay finals will pit our remaining competitors against EACH OTHER! The winners advance to the next stage of the competition. The losers…” She paused for dramatic effect. “…will face the Pit of Regret, just like yesterday! But before you despair, I’ve got some good news. The Pit has been recalibrated overnight—Sandy really gave it a workout—so it should be more eager than ever!”

Sandy pumped her fist from the recovery booth. “You’re welcome!”

April continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But first! I have one more announcement. Since the very beginning of this competition, we’ve been hinting at a secret extra competitor. A wildcard. A mystery woman who would join the fray when the time was right.” She paused, letting the tension build. “That time is NOW.”

The arena lights dimmed, then exploded into a cascade of gold and turquoise. The sound of distant drums filled the air, a primal rhythm that seemed to shake the very foundations of the arena. The holo-projectors whirred to life, painting the dais with images of ancient temples, lush jungles, and glittering treasure.

“From a world of conquistadors and ancient gods,” April announced, “from the legendary city of gold itself, I give you… CHEL!”

The far end of the dais shimmered, and a figure materialized from the swirling light.

She was breathtaking.

Her skin was the color of warm caramel, smooth and gleaming under the arena lights. Her hair was long and black, falling in wild waves past her shoulders. Her face was chestnut-shaped and expressive, with high cheekbones, full lips curved into a knowing smirk, and dark eyes that sparkled with mischief and intelligence.

She wore a simple white wrap that hugged her curves—a garment that seemed to be held together by nothing more than determination and a few strategic knots. The fabric clung to her full breasts, her narrow waist, and then flared out over hips that could only be described as devastating.

And her ass. Dear god, her ass.

It was full and round and impossibly juicy, each cheek a perfect teardrop of caramel flesh that jiggled with every step she took. The white wrap did nothing to hide it—in fact, it seemed designed to frame it, the fabric draping over the curve of her rear in a way that made the audience lean forward in their seats. When she walked, her hips swayed with a natural, unforced sensuality that made the other competitors’ mouths go dry.

“Hola, everyone,” she said, her voice a throaty purr. “I heard there was a competition for the best butt in the multiverse. I figured I should probably enter.”

“You’re a thief,” April said, her voice tinged with admiration. “A con artist. A woman who talked her way into the lost city of El Dorado and walked away with enough gold to buy a small country.”

“Technically, I walked away with a lot of gold,” Chel corrected, her smirk widening. “And two very confused conquistadors. But sure, let’s go with ‘thief.'”

“The shadowy figure has been saving you for a special occasion,” April continued. “And what better occasion than the Rear-Mount Relay finals? Chel, you’ll be facing Nicole Watterson in the first match of the day!”

Nicole stepped forward, her blue fur bristling with nervous energy. “I’m ready. I’ve dealt with chaos before. How bad can one thief be?”

Chel’s dark eyes swept over Nicole’s body with an appraising, almost hungry gaze. “Oh, I’m not just a thief, honey. I’m a performer. And I’ve been waiting for a stage like this my whole life.”

She reached down and untied one of the knots on her wrap, letting the white fabric fall away to reveal her body in all its glory. Her breasts were full and heavy, tipped with dark nipples that hardened in the cool air. Her stomach was flat, her thighs thick and powerful. And her bare ass, now fully exposed, was a masterpiece—each cheek a perfect orb of caramel flesh, the deep crease between them hinting at hidden treasures, the subtle dimpling at the sides speaking to underlying power.

“Look at that,” Sandy breathed from the recovery booth. “She’s like a… like a…”

“Like a fertility goddess?” Peach suggested.

“Like a thicc fertility goddess,” the Butt Witch corrected. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Chel caught the Butt Witch’s gaze and winked. “You’re not so bad yourself, green girl. Maybe after I win, we can compare notes.”

The Butt Witch’s face split into a wide, delighted grin. “I like her. I like her a LOT.”

April raised her microphone once more. “Competitors, take your positions! The Rear-Mount Relay finals begin… NOW!”