Chapter 183: Elimination Follows
The villa that night was a tomb filled with the living. The usual soundtrack of forced laughter, clinking glasses, and strategic flirtation was gone, replaced by a thick, humid silence broken only by the crash of distant waves. The scent of the ocean couldn’t mask the deeper, more persistent smell that seemed to have seeped into everyone’s pores: chocolate, sweat, and something metallic, like shame.
Briv showered until his skin was raw and pink, scrubbing with a coarse loofah until it felt like he was scraping off a layer of himself. It didn’t work. The phantom taste of syrup and salt lingered at the back of his throat. He avoided his own reflection in the steamed-up glass. When he finally emerged, wearing only shorts, the common area was a landscape of isolated figures.
Alya was curled in a vast armchair, knees drawn to her chest, staring at the unlit fireplace. Her hair, still damp, hung in dark ropes around her shoulders. She looked small, the fiery spirit extinguished, leaving only ash. Nicola was sequestered in a corner with Carmen, their heads close together, speaking in hushed, urgent tones. Nicola’s eyes were red-rimmed and hollow. Carmen, ever the talkative prom queen, was uncharacteristically quiet, just nodding, her long fingers twisting a strand of her brown hair into a tight coil.
Nicoleta held court on a sofa, one leg draped over the arm. She’d changed into a sheer black mesh top and leather shorts, an act of defiance that seemed to suck the remaining energy from the room. She surveyed the others with a cool, analytical detachment, occasionally scrolling through her phone as if the day’s events were a mildly interesting viral thread. Raze was near the bar, pouring a glass of amber whiskey. He caught Briv’s eye and offered a slow, knowing sip, the ghost of Nicoleta’s teeth still seeming to mark his neck.
The men were no better. Kofi sat with Andre, the two muscular figures speaking in low growls, a new alliance of arrogance forged in the chocolate pit. Sean was already drunk, muttering to a stone-faced Logan about "knowing your place." Jim just paced, a nervous, twitchy energy vibrating off him, his eyes darting to the women with a desperate, hungry gleam that made Briv’s skin crawl.
They were all waiting. The ticking clock was no longer metaphorical. Chris had promised a reckoning.
It came just past ten. The familiar crew members moved in, setting up a single spotlight that illuminated the empty space before the large projection screen. No festive music. No playful teasers. Chris walked into the circle of light, and even his trademark smirk was subdued, replaced by a grave, theatrical seriousness.
"Gather round, everyone," he said, his voice lacking its usual buoyancy. "The first reckoning is upon us."
They shuffled forward, forming a loose semicircle. Briv found himself standing next to Emilia, the psychology student. She gave him a small, sympathetic smile that felt like a clinical assessment.
"Today," Chris began, pacing slowly, "was about more than points. It was about revelation. It was about seeing what lies beneath the suntans and the swimwear when the veneer of civility is… licked away." A few flinched at the word. "The leaderboard isn't just about speed. It's about style. About commitment. About who embraced the temptation, and who merely endured it."
He clicked a button on a small remote. The screen behind him lit up, not with numbers, but with four names, stark and white against a black background:
NICOLA
LOGAN
NASER
CARMEN
A collective intake of breath. Nicola let out a small, choked sound. Carmen’s hand flew to her mouth. Logan’s jaw tightened, but he showed no other emotion. Naseer merely stared, his dark eyes impossible to read.
"You four sit at the bottom of our inaugural ranking," Chris announced. "The rules are simple. The island community now decides if you deserve to stay. The rest of you… you hold their fates. But this isn't a simple vote. This is Total Temptation Island. Your vote must be… validated."
He let the word hang, oily and ominous.
"We will proceed one by one. First… Carmen."
Carmen, so tall and usually so animated, seemed to shrink. She stepped forward into the edge of the light, her pale skin looking almost translucent. She wrapped her arms around herself.
"If you believe Carmen should remain with us," Chris said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "you must come to her. Stand with her. Publicly declare your support."
Silence stretched. Then, movement.
Raze moved first, with that languid, confident stride. He stopped beside Carmen, not looking at her, but facing the group, a faint, challenging smile on his lips. Briv’s heart hammered against his ribs. Carmen was his friend. She’d been kind to him, a genuine laughter in this fake place. The memory of her curled up with Nicola, looking shattered, flashed in his mind. Before he could think, his feet were carrying him forward. He stood on Carmen’s other side, avoiding her gaze, staring at the floor.
Joaquin, the Spanish macho-man, sauntered over next, giving Carmen’s shoulder a possessive squeeze. "Such a beautiful girl should not leave," he announced to no one in particular.
Finally, after a calculated pause, Kim stepped forward. He offered Carmen his most charming, sympathetic smile, the one that made women feel seen and men feel sick. "I believe in second chances," he said softly, for her ears only, though the microphones picked it up.
Four men. Briv, Raze, Joaquin, Kim.
Carmen looked at each of them, a flicker of desperate hope in her dark eyes. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice cracking.
Chris’s smile returned, wide and terrible. "Lovely. Four advocates. But a spoken word is cheap. On this island, conviction has a price. A carnal currency." He paused, letting the dread build. "If you want your votes to be valid… Carmen, you have to suck these men's cocks. Right here. Right now. Every one of them. To completion."
The air was sucked from the room. Carmen recoiled as if slapped. Briv felt a jolt of pure, electric horror shoot through him. This wasn't a private challenge on the beach. This was in the middle of the villa’s common area, under the clinical spotlight, surrounded by the entire cast. Nicola let out a sob and turned away. Alya buried her face in her hands.
"No," Carmen breathed. "You can't…"
"It is the only way their votes count," Chris said, his tone leaving no room for appeal. "Refuse, and you are eliminated immediately. Your choice. Sixty seconds to decide."
Carmen’s eyes, wide with panic, darted to Briv. He saw the plea in them, the utter terror. He wanted to run. He wanted to vomit. But a darker, more competitive part of him, the part that had watched Kofi and Raze be serviced, that had felt the sting of his own inconsequentiality, stirred. This was power. This was validation. He gave a minute, almost imperceptible nod.
It was all she needed. The fight drained from her tall frame. Her shoulders slumped in surrender. "Okay," she whispered.
"Wonderful!" Chris clapped his hands once. "The clock starts when you begin. Gentlemen, you may… arrange yourselves."
What followed was not passion. It was a transaction, stark and grim under the white light. Raze, ever the pragmatist, unbuckled his pants first. He pushed them and his boxers down just enough to free his already half-hard cock. He leaned back against a high stool, perfectly positioned in the light. "Over here, love," he said, his voice devoid of its usual charm, flat and instructional.
Carmen walked to him on unsteady legs. She sank to her knees on the hard tile floor, a supplicant before an altar. She looked up at Raze’s pale, impassive face, then down at his cock. She took a shaky breath, opened her mouth, and took him in.
There was no artistry, no attempt at seduction. It was a mechanical act of survival. She bobbed her head, her long brown hair falling forward to curtain her face. The only sounds were her ragged breathing through her nose and the wet, slick noise of her mouth on his flesh. Raze watched her with detached interest, one hand coming to rest lightly on the back of her head, not forcing, just guiding.
Briv watched, his own cock stirring traitorously in his shorts. He was horrified by himself, by the situation, by the raw, exposed vulnerability of his friend. But the sight was undeniably, viscerally arousing. The public degradation, the absolute power.
Raze didn’t last long. He was still keyed up from Nicoleta’s ministrations on the beach. With a low grunt, his hips jerked forward, and he came in Carmen’s mouth. She gulped convulsively, trying to swallow, but some of it spilled from her lips, a white trickle on her chin. She pulled off, coughing, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
"One down," Chris intoned. "Next."
Joaquin was already ready, his muscular body thrumming with anticipation. He didn't wait for her to approach. He stepped forward, his thick, uncut cock jutting out. "My turn, cielo," he said, his voice thick. He didn't guide her head; he simply placed his hands on his hips and pushed his pelvis towards her face.
Carmen, still on her knees, turned. She took Joaquin into her mouth. He was bigger than Raze, and she gagged immediately. Joaquin chuckled. "Easy, girl. Take it all. You want to stay, no?" He began to move, shallow thrusts into her mouth, setting a rhythm. He was vocal, groaning in Spanish, his fingers tangling in her hair now, gripping tighter. "Sí, así, chupa mi polla, puta bonita…"
Briv saw Carmen’s eyes squeeze shut, tears leaking from the corners. Joaquin fucked her face with growing intensity, his thighs tensing. "You like this, you tall bitch? You like this big Spanish cock in your throat?" He was panting, his arrogance giving way to raw need. With a final, deep thrust that made Carmen choke, he erupted, holding her head firmly against him as he pulsed down her throat. She struggled, her hands coming up to push against his thighs, but he held her until he was spent.
When he released her, she slumped forward, gasping for air, strings of saliva and semen connecting her lips to his softening cock.
Kim was next. His approach was different. He knelt down in front of her, his fake kindness morphing into something predatory and intimate. He cupped her tear-streaked face. "Shh, it’s almost over. Just me and Briv left. You can do this. For us." He kissed her forehead, a grotesque parody of comfort, then guided his cock—slender, like him—to her lips. "Be sweet for me, Carmen."
Carmen, broken and robotic, complied. Kim sighed with pleasure, his eyes closing. "So good. You’re so good." His kindness was a lie, but the pleasure was real. He thrust gently into her mouth, murmuring false encouragements. "You’re such a good girl, taking us all. We’ll keep you safe." His climax was quieter, a series of shudders and a soft moan as he spilled onto her tongue. He stroked her hair as she swallowed. "Good girl."
Then it was Briv’s turn.
Carmen looked up at him, her eyes utterly empty, a used vessel. Briv’s stomach churned with self-loathing and a terrifying, rising excitement. He fumbled with his shorts, freeing his erection. It was painfully hard, jutting out, thick and long. He saw Carmen’s eyes flicker down to it, and a fresh wave of shame washed over her features.
"Briv," she whispered, his name a plea and an accusation.
He couldn't speak. He stepped closer. The smell of sex and other men was overwhelming. She leaned forward, her mouth, swollen and slick from the others, opening.
But as her lips touched him, something in Briv snapped. The passive, receiving role felt wrong. Inadequate. He had watched others take. Now, he would take.
He pulled back. Carmen looked up, confused.
"Stand up," he heard himself say, his voice rough.
"Wh-what?"
"Stand up. Turn around. Bend over the stool."
A ripple went through the watching crowd. This wasn't part of the prescribed validation. Chris, from the shadows, said nothing, his smile widening. He was always in favor of initiative.
Carmen, her mind blank with submission, obeyed. She pushed herself up on trembling legs, turned her back to the room, and bent over the padded stool Raze had leaned against. Her tall frame folded, presenting her pale, skinny ass, her narrow waist. She was completely exposed.
Briv moved behind her. He wasn't gentle. He spat into his hand, slicked his cock roughly, and positioned himself. He pushed into her without ceremony.
Carmen cried out—a sharp, pained sound—as he entered her. She was tight, completely unprepared, and dry. Briv gritted his teeth, pushing through the resistance with a single, brutal thrust until he was fully sheathed inside her. Her whole body shuddered.
"Briv, please…" she sobbed.
He didn't answer. He set a punishing rhythm, gripping her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh. The slap of his skin against hers was loud in the silent room. He saw the faces watching: Alya, her hand over her mouth, eyes wide with horror; Nicoleta, leaning forward with keen interest; Kim, looking vaguely offended that his gentle facade had been shattered by this raw display.
The sight of them, the feel of Carmen’s tight heat around him, the knowledge that he was claiming what the others had only tasted—it ignited a furnace in Briv’s gut. He fucked her with a furious, competitive intensity, each thrust a declaration. I am here. I matter. This is mine.
"You like that?" he grunted, losing himself. "You like all of us using you, you desperate slut? You’ll do anything to stay, won't you?"
Carmen could only whimper, her face pressed against the leather stool, her body jolting with each of his drives. The pain and shock seemed to be giving way to a ragged, unwanted stimulation, her own traitorous body responding to the relentless friction.
Then Joaquin moved. The sight had re-awakened him. He walked over, his cock hard again. He stood in front of Carmen, nudging her lips with it. "Open," he commanded. Dazed, she did. He fed his cock into her mouth, establishing a crude, rhythmic counterpoint to Briv’s pounding from behind.
It became a machine. Briv hammering into her from behind, Joaquin fucking her face. Raze watched for a moment, then, with a shrug, approached. He knelt beside the stool, his mouth finding Carmen’s exposed breast, sucking and biting the small, firm mound. Kim, not wanting to be left out, knelt behind Briv, his hands running over Carmen’s back and ass, kissing her shoulder blades.
Carmen was pinned, used from all sides, a nexus of grunting, sweating male energy. She was no longer a person; she was a living, breathing fleshlight, a conduit for their competition and their collective release.
Briv felt his orgasm building, a tidal wave of pent-up jealousy, insecurity, and dark triumph. "You’re gonna take my cum, you fucking whore," he snarled, his thrusts becoming frantic, losing all rhythm. "You’re gonna remember who fucked you hardest!"
With a final, deep plunge, he came, his body locking as he emptied himself inside her with a guttural shout that was part agony, part ecstasy. He collapsed over her back, panting.
Joaquin, moments later, pulled from her mouth and came across her face, painting stripes over her closed eyes and slack mouth. Raze and Kim, having achieved their own gratification from the spectacle, stepped back.
Briv pulled out, stumbling back. The reality of what he’d done crashed into him, cold and nauseating. Carmen slid off the stool, collapsing onto the floor in a heap of bruised flesh and fluids. She curled into herself, shaking violently, making no sound.
The spotlight felt like a surgical lamp.
Chris stepped back into the light. He looked at the four men, then at the broken woman on