The Woman Who Dominated the Most Brutal Reality Show

“Today they’re premiering that show that’s got half the country scandalized,” Rubén said, dropping onto the sofa with the remote in his hand. “Do we watch it or not?”

“The one with the prisoners they dump on an island so they can kill each other?” Lucía asked without looking up from her phone.

“That’s the one,” Marina replied for him, curling up at the far end of the sofa. “Put it on, Rubén. I’m curious to see how far they dare go.”

The three of them were friends in their early thirties, killing a rainy Saturday with beers and lousy TV. Rubén pressed the button just as the theme music filled the screen.

A presenter with a perfect smile welcomed viewers and explained the rules with a coldness that didn’t fit what she was saying. The country’s worst criminals had been offered a deal: take part in a reality show where they would be abandoned on a desert island and forced to fight until the end. The prize for the last one standing, the one who made it to the top of the volcano at the island’s exact center: freedom.

“Twenty accepted,” Rubén read from the caption on the screen. “Twenty lunatics.”

The presenter showed the participants one by one. Killers, hitmen, men between twenty-five and forty, all in peak shape, all with that hollow look of people who are no longer afraid of anything.

“They’re all men,” Lucía observed, finally putting her phone down. “Aren’t there any women?”

“A woman there wouldn’t have a chance,” Rubén blurted out with the confidence of someone who thinks his opinion is a fact. “It’s ugly to say, but it’s the truth. She’d only serve to get torn apart in the first minute.”

“If you say so…” Marina muttered, not in the mood to argue with him.

“It’s not me saying it, it’s logic,” he insisted, taking a swig from his can.

And then the last contestant appeared.

“Vesna, thirty-one years old,” the presenter recited. “The show’s only woman. And the deadliest, according to our experts.”

***

The first episode opened on a postcard-perfect landscape: white sand, turquoise water, vegetation so dense it looked painted on. The twenty prisoners were scattered around different points of the shore, each one left with nothing but instinct.

The camera focused on Vesna. She was a blonde with broad shoulders and a calm gaze, her hair cut right at jaw level, short enough that nobody could grab it. Instead of heading into the undergrowth, she chose to follow the coast, looking for a safer route toward the center.

“Look at how calm she’s walking,” Rubén mocked. “Like this is a stroll in the park. She’s got two days left, tops.”

She soon crossed paths with her first rival, who had had the same idea of following the shoreline. He was one of the youngest, a tall, muscular man of about thirty-eight, with a scarred face and a crooked grin that widened as soon as he saw who was coming toward him.

“She’s not going to last long,” Rubén said flatly, settling back with satisfaction.

Neither Marina nor Lucía answered. They were focused on the screen, where the man was advancing slowly, savoring the moment, convinced he had an easy target in front of him.

“Well fuck me, what luck!” he shouted from twenty yards away. “They promised me killers and they send me a model. Behave yourself and maybe I’ll let you keep breathing, gorgeous.”

Vesna didn’t answer. She kept walking toward him, neither speeding up nor slowing down.

“I’m talking to you, sweetheart.” The man’s smile began to tighten. “When someone talks to you, you answer.”

She kept advancing, arms loose at her sides and eyes locked on his, as if measuring a distance only she understood.

“I said answer me, damn it!” the guy roared, and lashed the back of his hand toward her face with the speed of someone who’d hit a lot of people.

Vesna tilted her head just a few inches. The blow sliced through the air where her cheek had been half a second earlier. And in that same instant, her foot shot out into the inside of the man’s knee.

“Ooh!” Lucía gasped, suddenly sitting up.

The crack could be heard even through the television. The criminal lurched with an incredulous grunt, his leg bent at an impossible angle, and before he could recover his balance, Vesna’s knee rose like a piston and slammed between his legs.

The man lost his voice. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Then he collapsed onto the sand like a sack of potatoes, both hands clutching his crotch, his face twisted into a grimace that had nothing human about it.

“Holy shit,” Marina whispered, covering her mouth in equal parts horror and fascination.

The show, shamelessly, replayed the move in slow motion. You could clearly see Vesna slip the swing, destroy the knee, and deliver the final knee strike. The production lingered on that last impact, and the smile vanished from Rubén’s face.

“That… that must’ve hurt,” he said, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa.

“A little?” Lucía let out an incredulous laugh. “Look how she left him lying there. And you said she wouldn’t last a minute.”

“Looks like the blonde’s going to hold out longer than you thought,” Marina added, shooting him a sidelong look.

Now it was Rubén who stayed silent.

***

On screen, Vesna wasn’t finished.

“Another genius who thinks he’s king of the world,” she said at last, with a calm that was more frightening than any scream. “How many times have you used that same smile, huh?”

The man tried to drag himself backward, spitting out sand and insults in equal measure, but he could barely move. It had never crossed his mind that that serene-looking woman could become a threat to him, when he had killed men twice his size with his own hands.

“I’m going to tear you apart,” he growled, more from pride than conviction. “As soon as I get up…”

“You’re not getting up,” she cut him off, crouching beside him with the calm of someone picking something up off the floor.

She grabbed his wrist when he threw a desperate punch, and twisted his arm with a surgical precision that left him motionless, face-up, defenseless. The criminal struggled, kicked, begged through clenched teeth, but every movement seemed to drain a little more strength from him. He didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t prepared for this. No man like him ever is.

“Please,” he finally panted, eyes wide with panic. “Please, let me…”

“Did you let any of yours go?” Vesna asked, holding his gaze without blinking.

There was no answer. Only a long, shrill groan when she tightened her grip, the man’s teeth grinding, his body arching in the sand. The camera moved in close to his face, soaked with tears and sweat, and the presenter’s studio, according to the caption, burst into applause.

“Turn that off,” Rubén muttered, his voice oddly thin.

“Wait, it’s not over yet,” Lucía said, spellbound.

“Turn it off,” he repeated, getting to his feet.

But he only made it two steps toward the hallway, put a hand to his forehead, and collapsed onto the rug before reaching the door.

***

“Rubén!” Marina jumped off the sofa and knelt beside him, shaking his shoulder. “Rubén, can you hear me?”

He opened his eyes slowly, pale as paper, his gaze lost somewhere on the ceiling. It took him a few seconds to understand where he was.

“What… what happened?” he mumbled.

“You fainted,” Lucía said, barely holding back her laughter. “Seriously, you dropped straight to the floor watching the blonde who ‘wouldn’t last a minute.’”

Marina helped him sit up against the sofa. On the television, now without sound, Vesna rose from the sand, brushed her hands off with disdain, and continued on her way toward the center of the island, leaving behind an unmoving body and a silent shore.

“Maybe,” Marina said, looking at her friend with a smile he didn’t recognize, “you should be a little more careful about underestimating people.”

Rubén didn’t answer. For the first time all night, he had nothing to say. On the screen, the presenter announced that nineteen contestants were still in the game, and that Vesna had just become the public’s overwhelming favorite.

“Nineteen down,” Lucía murmured, reaching for her beer again without taking her eyes off the TV. “This is getting interesting.”

Marina, however, hadn’t taken her eyes off Rubén. She was still kneeling beside him, and the new smile on her face wouldn’t leave. Lucía noticed before he did.

“What?” Lucía asked, setting the can back on the table.

“Nothing,” Marina replied. “I was just thinking about how badly this one takes losing.”

Rubén swallowed. His stomach was still churning, his ears still buzzing, but he noticed perfectly the change in temperature in the living room. Marina reached out and brushed the damp hair off his forehead, very slowly, with calculated tenderness.

“Talking tough the whole time, huh?” she murmured. “That a girl there wouldn’t last a minute, that it’s logic, that it’s size… and the first hit on TV, down you go.”

“Marina, no…”

“Yes, Marina.” Her fingers slid down his neck and grabbed his shirt at the chest. “I think tonight it’s your turn to learn a little.”

Lucía smiled slowly, understanding before he did, and got off the sofa without rushing. She kicked off her sneakers, unbuttoned her jeans, and let them fall to the floor beside the remote. Underneath, she was wearing black panties that weren’t going to stay on for long: she pulled them down herself and tossed them toward the sofa.

“Fuck,” Rubén whispered, dry-mouthed.

“Shut up,” Lucía cut in. “You’ve talked enough tonight.”

Marina shoved him by the chest until he was lying flat on the rug, face-up, and yanked his belt open with two sharp pulls. She lowered his jeans and boxers to his knees in one go, and there was Rubén, exposed in his own living room, his cock already half-hard despite how humiliated he was. Precisely because of how humiliated he was.

“Look at that,” Marina said, taking hold of it and stroking it slowly. “The big man with the lectures, hard as a rock because we spoke to him a little rough. You were the one saying women can’t take anything?”

“Marina, please…”

“Please what.” She squeezed the base of his cock with two deliberate fingers, and Rubén let out a long gasp. “Please keep going. Please don’t stop. That’s what you want to say, right?”

Lucía crouched down on the other side, hiked her skirt to her waist, and without any preamble sat on Rubén’s face, facing Marina. Her cunt opened right above his mouth, wet, hot, and Lucía gripped the back of the sofa to lower her weight.

“Eat,” she ordered, moving her hips slowly. “Eat good, because I’ve spent all night putting up with your little act.”

Rubén stuck out his tongue without thinking. There was nothing else to do. He ran it over Lucía’s wet lips, up and down, while she dug her nails into his hair and pressed his face against her sex.

“Ah, fuck,” Lucía moaned. “Ah, like that, deeper… deeper, asshole, because for yelling you sure had a mouth.”

Marina, meanwhile, had stripped off her leggings and panties in one tug. She slid her hand between her legs and rubbed her clit while watching the scene, enjoying it, and then climbed astride Rubén’s hips. She grabbed his cock with her hand, lined the tip up with the entrance to her cunt, and dropped down hard.

“Ah!” she growled. “Well, look at that, if nothing else, you do serve for fucking.”

Rubén moaned into Lucía’s pussy and the sound came out muffled, pathetic. Marina started moving on top of him without the slightest delicacy, rising and falling with her thighs spread, pressing her palms against his chest to drive him all the way in each time. Her breasts were bouncing above her pushed-up bra, and Lucía reached out and pinched one nipple while continuing to ride her friend’s mouth.

“Look at me,” Marina demanded of Lucía. “Look at my face while I fuck him.”

“Fuck him good,” Lucía panted back. “Teach him what a real woman is. ‘Wouldn’t last a minute,’ the idiot said…”

“Oh, yeah?” Marina laughed, picking up the pace, squeezing her cunt around his cock with every downward plunge. “Then you hold me up, handsome. Let’s see who lasts less here.”

Rubén couldn’t answer. His tongue was buried deep in Lucía’s cunt, his nose flattened against her clit, and on top of that Marina was fucking him with a fury he had never seen in her. He could feel Lucía’s thighs tightening around his temples, semen beginning to surge up from his balls to the tip of his cock, and the two women laughing over him as if he were the funniest piece of furniture in the living room.

“He’s about to cum already,” Marina announced, looking down between her own legs. “The baby’s cumming. Not even a minute, huh, champ?”

“Don’t you dare,” Lucía warned Rubén, yanking his hair. “Don’t you dare cum before she does.”

But Rubén wasn’t in control of anything anymore. Marina dropped onto him twice more, deep, and he arched his back against the rug and spilled into her with a groan muffled by Lucía’s pussy. He felt the semen shooting out in pulses, Marina keeping up the motion on top of him to wring out the last drop, and then felt her come herself with a long cry, clenching around his defeated cock.

“Good boy,” Marina panted, still on top of him, sweat beading on her forehead. “At least you’re good for this.”

Lucía wasn’t done. She grabbed his face with both hands and ground herself against his mouth without the slightest concern, pushing her clit against his lips, against his teeth, until she came too with a shudder that ran from her waist downward. Then she fell back onto the rug, laughing, her skirt bunched up at her waist and her breathing still ragged.

“Fuck,” Marina huffed, slowly getting off him. “That felt good.”

Rubén stayed lying there, eyes closed, mouth soaked, cock shining and shrinking against his hip. He said nothing. He couldn’t. Marina wiped herself between the inner thigh with her hand, stood up, and dropped back onto the sofa with absolute ease, as if nothing extraordinary had just happened. Lucía imitated her at the other end, pulling her panties up any old way.

“Turn it up,” Lucía asked.

And while Rubén recovered on the floor, the two women settled back onto the sofa, turned up the volume, and prepared to see how far the island’s only woman was capable of going.