Chapter 129: More Trial 10
The victory of the women’s team hung in the air, a bitter scent mixed with salt and sweat. Briv watched Alya being led away by Emilia and Nicoleta, her body language a collapsed version of its former self. The lesson was not just in her defeat, but in the method of it. Andre’s cold, grinding precision. Emilia’s dissociative void. These were the new blueprints for survival.
Raze materialized beside him again, his voice a low taunt. “Your girl looked like she was seeing God in there. Or maybe just Andre’s dick. Hard to tell the difference.”
Briv didn’t turn. He kept his eyes fixed on the empty mat, the ghost of Alya’s shuddering release imprinted on the padded surface. “She’s not my girl,” he said, his voice flat, devoid of the heat Raze was trying to provoke. The words felt true in a way they never had before. The possessive jealousy that had once coiled in his gut had been cauterized, replaced by a cold, analytical calm.
“Let’s keep this train moving, folks!” Chris McLean’s voice boomed, shattering the post-mortem whispers. “The stakes are higher than ever! We’ve seen strategy, we’ve seen stamina, now let’s see some goddamn skill! For our third group of Round One…”
Briv’s entire world narrowed to the sound of his own name.
“…fighting for the Men’s team, we have the charming underdog, Briv! The smooth-talking party animal from Seoul, Kim! And the arrogant athletic force, Kofi!”
A jolt, cold and sharp, went through him. This was it. The theory was over. The laboratory of his mind was about to become a battlefield. He stepped forward, his movements deliberate, alongside Kim, who flashed a practiced, reassuring smile at the women, and Kofi, who cracked his neck and grinned, all white teeth and predatory confidence.
“And their formidable opponents,” Chris continued, drawing out the suspense, “the Spanish sensation, the absolutely breathtaking Diletta! The gorgeous influencer, Patricia! And the gossip queen with a strategic mind, Valentina!”
The three women stepped forward. Diletta was a vision of mature sensuality, her body a classic hourglass with full breasts and a round, prominent ass. Patricia was younger, a doll-like perfection with a tight, fit body and a similarly impressive rear. Valentina, while less curvaceous, carried herself with a sharp, watchful intensity, her eyes already scanning the three men, calculating weaknesses.
Briv’s new resolve was immediately tested. His gaze, against his will, was drawn to Diletta. She was exactly the kind of woman who would have made his old self stammer and preen. Now, he just noted her assets dispassionately. Big breasts, narrow waist, strong hip structure. Designed for leverage. He did the same for Patricia. Firm, athletic glutes. High pain tolerance likely. For Valentina. Skinnier. Less padding. Might be more sensitive. He was inventorying them, reducing their stunning beauty to a list of tactical advantages and vulnerabilities.
“You know what to do!” Chris yelled, his arm sweeping toward the mat. “To the arena! Let’s see what you’re made of!”
The walk to the center felt endless. The sand gave way to the firm, slightly sticky surface of the mat. Briv could feel the residual heat from the previous bouts, the absorbed sweat of struggle and surrender. Kim was to his left, already oozing a fake, comforting energy. Kofi was to his right, a tightly wound spring of pure aggression.
“Clothes off! Now!”
The command was a guillotine blade dropping. There was no more time for thought. Only action.
Briv’s hands were steady as he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts and pushed them down, along with his underwear. The humid air felt cool on his exposed skin. His cock, long and thick, hung semi-erect, responding to the adrenaline, not to desire. He kept his eyes forward, on the women undressing.
Diletta removed her clothes with the practiced grace of a television host, a small, unreadable smile on her lips. Her body was a masterpiece of natural sculpture, her large, round ass and full breasts a testament to her genetic fortune. Patricia was quicker, almost shy for a moment before her competitive spirit took over, her own compact, perfectly shaped body bared, her doll-face set in determination. Valentina was the fastest, shedding her clothes with a brisk efficiency, her smaller breasts and less pronounced curves making her look almost girlish next to the other two.
The six of them stood naked under the blinding sun and the unblinking eyes of the cameras. The disparity was almost comical. Kim was lean, his dick of average size but presented with a confidence that suggested otherwise. Kofi was a sculpted god, his muscles defined, his huge, dark dick already fully erect and jutting out arrogantly. And Briv, skinny, pale, looked like a boy next to them, save for the one asset nature had given him in abundance: his long, thick cock was now fully hard, a stark, pale contrast to his slender frame.
The horn blared.
The world exploded into a frenzy of motion and sound.
Kofi was a bolt of lightning. He didn’t choose; he conquered. He grabbed Diletta, the most voluptuous prize, and spun her around, bending her over with a single, powerful motion. He spat onto his fingers, slicked the head of his huge cock, and without a word, drove it into her from behind.
“¡Dios mío!” Diletta cried out, her back arching violently as he filled her. Kofi’s thrusts were not deep and grinding like Andre’s; they were powerful, piston-like, a rapid-fire assault designed to overwhelm and break.
Simultaneously, Kim approached Patricia with a soft, sympathetic smile. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a soothing lie. “We can make this good.” He laid her down gently, as if on a bed, and positioned himself between her legs. He entered her slowly, with a gentle rocking motion, his eyes locked on hers, pretending it was intimacy and not war.
That left Briv and Valentina.
She looked at him, a flicker of pity in her eyes. She saw the skinny kid, the underdog. She thought he was the easy win. “Don’t worry, Briv,” she said, her voice syrupy with false kindness. “It’ll be over soon.”
She lay back, spreading her legs, expecting him to fumble, to be quick and inefficient.
Briv said nothing. The void inside him was complete. He saw her not as a person, but as a problem to be solved. He dropped to his knees, but not between her legs. He moved up her body, ignoring her surprised look, and positioned himself over her face.
“What are you—?” she started, but he didn’t let her finish.
He guided his cock to her mouth. “Suck it,” he commanded, his voice low and utterly devoid of emotion.
Valentina’s eyes widened in shock and indignation. This wasn’t the script. She was supposed to control this, to outlast him with her judicious strategy. But a command delivered with such flat, absolute authority was disorienting. She opened her mouth, and he pushed himself in, not violently, but with an inexorable pressure that brooked no refusal.
He fucked her mouth with the same metronomic rhythm Andre had used on Alya. Deep, measured strokes that hit the back of her throat. He watched her gag, her eyes watering, and he felt nothing. No triumph, no pity. It was a process. He was desensitizing her, dominating not just her body but the one tool she relied on most: her mouth, her voice, her gossip. He silenced it with his cock.
Meanwhile, the other battles raged. Kofi was pounding into Diletta with brutal efficiency, his muscles corded with strain. “You like that, you Spanish whore? You take all of this dick?” he grunted.
Diletta, to her credit, was matching him. She pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts. “Is that all?” she gasped, her voice strained but defiant. “I’ve had bigger.”
Her taunt was a mistake. Kofi, enraged, redoubled his efforts, his pace becoming frantic, animalistic. He was losing his cool, his arrogance turning to raw, unfocused rage.
On the other mat, Kim’s strategy was initially working. Patricia was moaning beneath him, her body responding to his gentle, skillful fucking. He was whispering to her in Korean, then in broken English, “You are so beautiful… so tight… let it go for me, yeah? Come for oppa.”
Patricia’s breath was coming in hitches. She was close. Kim’s fake kindness was a potent weapon. He saw her teetering on the edge, her body arching, her mouth forming a silent ‘O’.
And then, from the other mat, Kofi roared. With a final, brutal slam, he came inside Diletta, his body shuddering. He pulled out, staggering back, his chest heaving. One orgasm for the Men’s team.
The shift was instantaneous. Kim, hearing Kofi’s victory, lost his focus for a split second. His rhythm faltered. That tiny break was all Patricia needed. The spell of his whispered lies was broken. Her eyes snapped open, the building pleasure receding like a tide. She clamped down internally, physically shutting the sensation out.
Kim realized his error too late. “No, no, baby, come back,” he pleaded, his voice losing its smooth cadence, becoming desperate. He began fucking her harder, but it was useless. The opportunity was gone. He was fucking a body, not a willing participant. The pressure built in him instead, a frustrating, inevitable climb. With a cry of frustration, he came inside her, his body slumping onto hers in defeat.
Two orgasms for the Men’s team. The pressure was now entirely on the women. They had zero. Only Briv remained, and he was still relentlessly fucking Valentina’s face.
The rules demanded a switch. Kofi, spent and furious from his own lack of control, stalked over to Patricia. He pulled Kim off her and took his place, his still-wet dick plunging into her. He had no finesse left, only brute force.
Kim, shaking with adrenaline and failure, moved to Diletta. He tried to resume his gentle lover act, but the mask had slipped. His touches were rote, his whispers hollow. Diletta saw through him instantly and closed herself off, her mind retreating to a place far from the beach.
And Briv.
He finally pulled his slick, saliva-coated cock from Valentina’s mouth. She gasped for air, coughing, her face a mess of tears and spit. She looked up at him, truly afraid now. He wasn’t the harmless boy she’d thought he was.
He flipped her onto her stomach with a quiet, efficient motion. He didn’t speak. He positioned himself behind her, spat onto his hand to slick his length, and entered her in one smooth, deep stroke.
Valentina cried out, a sharp, pained sound. His size was a shock, but it was the cold, deliberate way he used it that was truly terrifying. He set a punishing, deep rhythm, each thrust a calculated impact. He wasn’t trying to please her or connect with her. He was trying to break her.
He watched the other mats. He saw Kofi failing to revive a response from Patricia. He saw Kim’s act completely failing on Diletta. The women were using the lesson from the previous round: total emotional disengagement. They were becoming voids.
Briv understood. He couldn’t win a war of attrition against three women. He had to make one of them feel. Not pleasure, necessarily. But something. Anything. Anger, humiliation, fear—it was all fuel for the body’s fire.
He changed his angle, tilting Valentina’s hips up. He drove into her, hard and deep, hitting a spot that made her gasp.
“You like that, you gossipy little bitch?” he whispered, his voice a cold, venomous snake in her ear. It was the first real emotion he’d shown, and it was manufactured, a tool. “You like getting railed by the skinny kid you felt sorry for? This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To be the center of attention? Well, here it is. Everyone is watching you get used.”
Valentina whimpered. The words cut deeper than the physical act. They targeted her insecurities, her vanity. She tried to block him out, to become a void like the others, but his voice was a drill, boring into her psyche.
“They’re all laughing at you,” he pressed, his thrusts becoming faster, more intense. “Look at you. Pathetic. Gagging on my dick, now getting fucked like a cheap whore. This is your moment, Valentina. This is your spotlight.”
He was getting close. He could feel the tension coiling in his balls. But so was she. A different kind of tension. A hot, shameful, unwanted tension. His words, his relentless physical assault, his complete emotional detachment—it was creating a perverse, confusing friction inside her. She was fighting it, shaking her head, but her body was betraying her. A low moan escaped her lips, one she tried to bite back.
Briv felt the subtle, involuntary clench of her muscles around him. It was the same tell he’d seen in Alya.
He leaned over her, his chest against her back, and increased his pace to a frantic, final drive. “Come on, you dirty slut,” he grunted, the words a final push. “Come all over this dick. Show everyone what a little fuck-toy you really are.”
With a shattered cry that was equal parts pleasure and self-loathing, Valentina’s body convulsed. Her orgasm was a violent, unwilling surrender, wracking her frame as she pressed her face into the mat to muffle her sobs.
Briv didn’t stop. He rode her through it, and as her contractions milked his cock, his own control shattered. With a guttural, raw sound that had been trapped in his chest for days, he emptied himself deep inside her, his own body buckling for a moment under the wave of release.
He collapsed on top of her, then quickly rolled off, lying on his back on the mat, staring at the blue, indifferent sky. His chest heaved. The void was gone, replaced by a hollow, ringing exhaustion.
Silence.
Then, Chris McLean’s voice, filled with genuine shock. “I don’t believe it! The underdog comes through! Briv, with a stunning, brutal display of psychological warfare, secures the win for the Men’s team! Briv, Kim, Kofi, you advance!”
Briv slowly sat up. He didn’t look at Valentina, who was curled into a fetal position, weeping quietly. He didn’t look at the stunned faces of the crowd. He looked at his hands, then he looked across the beach, his eyes finding Alya’s.
She was staring back at him, her face pale, her expression one of horror and a dawning, terrible understanding. He had not just won. He had become something else entirely. Something she no longer recognized. And in her eyes, he saw the reflection of the monster he had willingly unleashed.