Chapter 184: Nicola's Votes
Chris let the silence crystallize around Carmen’s sobbing form for a full minute, letting the camera drones hover, capturing every shattered expression in the circle. The smell was overwhelming now—semen, sweat, and the sharp, coppery hint of blood from split lips or raw tissue. Briv stared at his own hands, feeling the ghost of Carmen’s hipbones under his palms, and the overwhelming urge to retitch clawed up his throat. He swallowed it down, a bitter pill.
"Okay," Chris said, his voice cutting through the thick air like a scalpel. "That means Carmen has four votes. She is… provisionally safe." He made it sound like a prison sentence, which it was. "Next up, we have Nicola—same rules!"
The spotlight swung, a predatory eye, to land on Nicola. She didn’t flinch. Her blonde hair seemed to glow under the harsh light, her face a mask of chilled porcelain. Only the slight tremble in her clasped hands, pressed against her thighs, betrayed her. She had watched her friend be dismantled. She understood the price.
Briv expected hesitation, a more calculated approach. He was wrong.
Andre moved first. The tall, muscular man with the moody, aggressive calm stepped forward like a stormfront, his dark eyes fixed on Nicola with an unnerving intensity. Then Kofi, his arrogance manifest in a swagger, joining Andre with a look of pure entitlement. Jim, the socially awkward porn addict, practically tripped in his eagerness, his gaze locked on Nicola’s body with a feverish, uncomplicated hunger. Sean, grumbling something under his breath about "earning your keep," stomped over, his muscular frame looming. Lastly, Thomas, with his feminine grace, fluttered to the group, offering Nicola a sympathetic, pitying smile that didn’t reach his dark, calculating eyes.
Five men. A different, more volatile mix.
Nicola looked at them, then past them, to where Carmen was being half-carried, half-dragged by a stone-faced producer towards the bathroom. Her friend’s blank, dead-eyed stare seemed to decide something in her. The fear in her own eyes hardened into a bleak, accepting resolve. She was smart. She knew survival here wasn’t about dignity; it was about endurance. About control, even in surrender.
"Alright," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. "Let’s get this over with."
She didn’t wait for instruction. She walked to the center of the lit space and knelt, her movements deliberate, almost robotic. She looked up at the five figures surrounding her, a blonde sacrifice in a circle of shadows. "Who’s first?"
Andre unbuckled his belt, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet. He freed a truly massive cock, thick and long, already fully erect. "Me," he said, no inflection in the word. It was a fact.
Nicola leaned forward. She didn’t hesitate, but her approach was analytical, clinical. She spat into her palm, slicking him with a rough, efficient stroke before taking the bulbous head into her mouth. She couldn’t take much of his girth; her jaws strained immediately. Andre looked down at her, his expression unreadable. He didn’t thrust. He let her work, her head bobbing as best she could, saliva dripping down his shaft onto the floor. It was a silent, brutal contest of capacity. A low groan finally escaped him, a sign of life from the monolith. He came quickly, a violent pulse that made Nicola gag as she tried to swallow the hot, salty rush. She pulled back, coughing, a strand of cum connecting her lips to his glistening tip.
Kofi was already there, pushing Andre aside. "My turn, snow bunny," he sneered, his own impressive length in hand. Nicola, still catching her breath, turned to him. She took him deeper, using her hands to work the base. Kofi liked it rough. He gripped her hair, not guiding, but controlling, setting a fast, punishing pace for her mouth. "Yeah, suck that black dick, blondie. You love it, don't you? Bet you never had nothing like it." He fucked her face with arrogant, shallow thrusts, his hips pistoning. Nicola’s eyes watered, but she kept them open, staring at the ceiling as if dissociating from the act. When Kofi came, he made a point of pulling out and painting her face, streaking her cheek and chin with white.
Jim was next, vibrating with nervous energy. "C-can I… from behind? While you…?" He gestured incoherently between his own long, skinny erection and her mouth.
Sean shoved him. "Wait your fucking turn, kid." The ex-farm guy loomed over Nicola. "On your hands and knees. Now." It wasn't a request.
Nicola, wiping Kofi’s cum from her eye with the back of her hand, obeyed. She got on all fours, presenting her big, round ass. Sean spat onto his palm, lubricated himself with a few rough tugs, and without any further preamble, drove into her from behind.
Nicola cried out—a sharp, pained gasp. Sean was large and unforgiving. He set a grinding, rhythmic pace, each thrust pushing her forward on her hands. He didn't speak, just grunted with effort, his calloused hands digging into the soft flesh of her hips. It was purely functional, a barnyard act. Jim watched, mesmerized, his hand flying over his own cock.
"Think you're better than us?" Sean growled, finding his voice. "Think your looks and your smart talk mean shit? This is what you're for. Take it." He hammered into her, his balls slapping against her. Nicola’s arms shook, threatening to give out. Her breath came in ragged gasps matching his thrusts. When he finished, he pulled out with a wet sound and spat on her back. "Pathetic."
Before she could collapse, Thomas was there, helping her to roll onto her back. He laid her down gently on the hard floor, cushioning her head with his arm. "Shh, ignore that brute," he whispered, his voice a soft, feminine contrast. "You're doing so well. Just one more. Be a good girl for me." His kindness was a hook, and Nicola, disoriented and broken, latched onto it. She nodded weakly.
Thomas kissed her forehead, then her lips, his tongue probing gently. He positioned himself between her legs, his slender frame covering hers. He entered her with a slow, careful push. "There, see? Nice and easy." He began to move, a gentle rocking that was almost loving. Nicola’s body, traumatized and raw, instinctively relaxed a fraction. She let out a shuddering sigh.
Then Thomas’s rhythm changed. The gentle rocking became sharper, deeper thrusts. The tender facade cracked, revealing the frantic, predatory hunger beneath. "You're so tight, you fucking slut," he hissed, his voice dropping an octave, losing all its softness. "You took all of them, didn't you? You loved it. Admit it." He drove into her, his hips slapping against her thighs, his fingernails digging into her shoulders. The fake tenderness was gone, replaced by a selfish, violent need to claim his turn. Nicola turned her head away, fresh tears leaking as he used her, his breath hot and panting in her ear. His orgasm was a series of frantic, shallow jerks, and he collapsed on top of her before rolling off.
Jim, who had been waiting, his cock purple with need, didn't need an invitation. He practically fell on top of her, his skinny body awkward. He fumbled between her legs, his long, narrow dick probing urgently at her entrance, slick with the combined fluids of the others. "Sorry, sorry, just… oh god…" he babbled. He pushed in, a clumsy, deep thrust that made Nicola arch her back. He had no rhythm, just a desperate, jackhammering frenzy, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "You're so hot, oh fuck, I'm gonna…" He lasted three dozen thrusts before he shouted, convulsing, pumping into her already flooded core.
It was over.
Nicola lay still, a mess of sweat, semen, and tears, staring at the ceiling lights until they blurred into a single white sun.
Chris stepped back into the light, his shoes careful to avoid the damp patches on the tile. "Nicola is officially safe!" he announced, a ringmaster’s flourish. "She earned five votes!" He let a beat pass, his gaze sweeping over the remaining two names on the screen—LOGAN and NASER. The atmosphere, already suffocating, tightened another notch. "But we still have two contestants in danger."
The spotlight split, illuminating Logan and Naseer where they stood. Logan, the older fitness trainer, stood imposingly still, his jaw set, arms crossed over his chest. His gray eyes were cold flint. Naseer merely adjusted the cuff of his tailored shirt, his expression one of bored contempt, as if the entire vulgar spectacle was beneath him.
Chris’s smile was all teeth. "The dynamics have shifted, haven't they? After a demonstration like that… voting requires a certain… conviction. A new standard has been set." He looked between the two powerful, intimidating men. "So. Who among you is willing to pay the price for them? Or perhaps…" he trailed off, letting the horrible suggestion hang.
Briv’s stomach hollowed out. He looked at Alya. She was staring at Nicola’s broken body, her own face wet with silent tears. Then her eyes flicked to his, and in them, he saw no trace of the girl he knew. Just a reflection of the same monstrous calculation he felt brewing in his own skull. The game had irrevocably changed. It wasn't about connections or romance anymore.
It was about slaughter. And the next move was anyone's guess.