Chapter 39: Salamanders' MVP
The Salamanders’ cabin smelled of money masking decay—expensive leather, ozone from too many plugged-in devices, and beneath it, the sour hint of spilled champagne and unwashed silk. Immunity should have felt like a crown. It felt like a coffin. They were sidelined, forced to watch the other teams tear each other apart while their own inertia festered.
“This is bullshit,” Arman declared, sprawled on a white divan that probably cost more than his motorcycle. His short black hair was perfectly mussed. “We have the power to decide the entire fucking vote, and we have to pick one of us to wield it? It’s a design flaw.”
Silviu loomed by the wet bar, his massive frame taut. He flexed a pectoral, watching it jump in the mirrored backsplash. “The strongest should decide. The one who contributed most to the win.” He said it as if reading from a gym-bro manifesto.
Andra, lounging in a pose that showcased her big round breasts and fit waist, laughed. It was a sound like ice in a crystal glass. “Darling, you contributed by being a large, intimidating ornament. I contributed strategy. Elena contributed her delightful karate temper. Diana contributed… her social connections?” She let the question hang, a poisoned dart.
Diana, perched on the arm of a chair, flipped her long brown hair. “Fuck you, Andra. My ‘connections’ are what got us the premium supplies. You think that just happened?”
Elena Chiriac was silent, cleaning beneath a perfectly manicured nail with a tactical knife. Her green eyes, doll-like and chilling, scanned the room. She didn’t need to speak. The knife did the talking.
“So we vote?” Arman suggested, already bored.
“Votes are for democracies,” Elena said, her voice calm and low. “We’re not a democracy. We’re a hierarchy that hasn’t been established.” She slid the knife away. “The other teams… they used more direct methods. I heard things. The Jaguars had asteam room reckoning. The Beavers… did an audit. With their bodies.” Her lips curled. “It’s crude. But it’s honest. Bodies don’t lie about where the real power is.”
A thick silence descended. Andra understood first. A slow, feline smile spread across her precious features. “Oh. I see. You want us to… compete.”
“Not compete,” Silviu grunted, his alpha-male persona seizing the concept. “Submit to assessment.”
Arman sat up, his superficial confidence giving way to interest. He found Emilia attractive, but this… this was a game he knew. “The men assess the women. That’s the hierarchy. We fuck you. We see who responds best. Who’s strongest. Who breaks. Who leads. The best performer gets the vote.”
Diana’s eyes widened. “You’ve got to be joking. That’s disgusting. And… and reductive!”
“It’s the opposite of reductive, you dumb bitch,” Andra snapped, standing up. She unzipped her designer dress, letting it fall. Her big round breasts and fit, big round ass were exposed, her narrow waist a triumph of surgery and discipline. “It’s the ultimate expansion. It strips everything else away. Your family money, your Instagram followers, your fake laugh. It’s just this.” She cupped her own breast, thumb brushing the nipple. “And what you can make happen with it. I’m in.”
Elena stood, removing her clothes with the efficient, unembarrassed motions of someone in a locker room. Her body was taut, sculpted, a weapon. “Fine. Let’s get this over with. I have a winning streak to maintain.”
Diana, seeing herself outflanked, hesitated only a second. The fame, the victory—it was everything. She stood, peeling off her layers until she stood naked with the others. Arman and Silviu shed their clothes. Silviu’s musculature was grotesquely impressive, his average cock looking small against his tree-trunk thighs. Arman was leaner, equally average, but he carried it with an unshakeable arrogance.
No one touched. The assessment had already begun.
“On your knees,” Silviu commanded, his voice echoing in the lavish space.
The three women looked at each other. Andra dropped first, a calculated surrender, kneeling before Silviu’s bulk. Elena knelt before Arman, her gaze defiant, accepting the position but not the submission. Diana, after a beat, knelt beside Andra, facing Silviu.
“Open your mouths,” Arman said, his tone conversational, as if ordering a cocktail.
They complied. Silviu stepped forward, guiding his cock to Andra’s lips. She took him in, deep, her throat working immediately, her eyes looking up at him with a performative hunger. Silviu grunted, placing a massive hand on the back of her head. He began to face-fuck her with slow, testing thrusts.
Arman pushed his length into Elena’s waiting mouth. She didn’t suck. She held him, her tongue lying flat, her green eyes locked on his, a challenge. He started to move, but it was like fucking a stone statue. Her jaw was strong, unyielding.
Diana was left, mouth open, staring at Silviu’s balls as he pumped into Andra’s eager throat. “Please,” she whispered, the word leaving her before she could stop it.
Silviu glanced down, a flicker of contempt in his dark eyes. He pulled his wet cock from Andra’s mouth and pushed it into Diana’s. She gagged, her eyes watering, but she tried to emulate Andra’s technique, bobbing her head, hollowing her cheeks. She was sloppy, desperate. Andra, now watching, wiped her mouth and smiled. She shuffled forward on her knees and began to lick Silviu’s heavy balls, her hand snaking between Diana’s legs to cruelly finger her pussy.
“See how wet she gets from being used?” Andra murmured to Silviu. “No control.”
Silviu moved his hips faster, fucking Diana’s mouth with increasing roughness. She choked, tears streaking her makeup. Arman, frustrated by Elena’s resistance, pulled out. “Turn around. All of you. Asses up.”
They rearranged themselves on the expensive rug, a line of arched spines and presented curves. Silviu surveyed the three round asses: Andra’s surgically perfect, Elena’s tightly muscular, Diana’s beautifully natural and trembling.
“The strong take what they want,” Silviu said, and he positioned himself behind Elena. He thought she’d be the toughest challenge; conquering her would be his statement. He spat on his hand, slicked himself, and drove into her pussy.
It was like entering a vise. Elena didn’t cry out. She braced her hands on the floor, her karate-trained muscles clamping around him rhythmically, trying to seize control of the rhythm itself. “Fuck you,” she grunted, pushing back against him.
“That’s… the idea,” Silviu panted, slamming into her, his bulk making the floor shake.
Arman chose Andra. He mounted her from behind, sinking into her with a satisfied sigh. She was wet, accommodating, but theatrically so. “Oh, yes, Arman, you feel so big,” she moaned, the sound perfectly pitched, her face turned to watch his reaction in a gilded mirror across the room. She was performing the ideal fuck, a masterpiece of fake passion.
Diana was left, alone, on her hands and knees, watching the other two being taken. Her pussy ached, empty. She was being assessed by absence. “Someone… please,” she whimpered.
Silviu, pounding into Elena, nodded to Arman. “Switch. Now.”
Arman pulled out of Andra and moved to Diana. He didn’t prepare her. He just shoved his cock into her waiting, desperate cunt. She cried out, a sound of relief and shame. He fucked her with a detached, analytical pace. “So needy,” he observed. “You’d do anything for a bit of attention, wouldn’t you?”
Silviu, meanwhile, pulled out of Elena and pushed into Andra. Andra unleashed a symphony of moans, her perfect ass slamming back to meet him. “Yes! God, yes, you’re so strong! You’re a fucking king!” she screamed.
Elena, now empty, rolled onto her back. She spread her legs, her fingers going to her own clit, rubbing hard and fast. She stared at the ceiling, her face a mask of furious concentration, determined to climax without any of them inside her, to prove she needed nothing.
The room was a cacophony. Skin slapping. Andra’s theatrical screams. Arman’s clinical grunts. Diana’s pathetic sobs. Silviu’s animalistic huffs. The air grew thick with the smell of sex, sweat, and expensive perfume mingling into something grotesque.
It was Diana who broke the script. The desperation, the need to be chosen, to matter, overrode everything. As Arman fucked her, she began to chant, “Choose me, choose me, I’ll do it, I’ll do whatever you want, just pick me, please, Arman, pick me!” Her voice was raw, broken, a public auction of her will.
Arman smirked, speeding up. Andra, hearing this, amplified her own performance, trying to drown Diana out. “He’s mine! This decision is mine! Can’t you feel it, Silviu? I’m the best! I’m winning!”
Silviu was close, his face red, veins bulging. Elena, on the floor beside them, let out a guttural, silent scream as she forced herself into a dry, shuddering orgasm, her body bowing off the floor. A personal victory no one witnessed.
Arman came inside Diana with a sharp gasp, pumping his average load into her. He collapsed on her back. Silviu roared, pulling out of Andra at the last second and spraying his come over the perfect curves of her ass, marking his territory.
They all fell apart, breathing heavily on the ruined rug.
The assessment was over. No one spoke for a full minute.
Elena stood first, wiping her hand on her thigh, her face restored to its cold composure. She looked at the panting, messy forms of the others. Andra was seething at being pulled out of, her performance incomplete. Diana was weeping quietly, Arman’s come leaking from her. The men looked satisfied, drained.
“Well?” Elena’s voice cut the silence.
Arman pushed himself up. He looked at Diana, then at Andra, then at Elena. “Andra performs. Elena resists.” He nodded to the still-sobbing Diana. “She… converts need into obedience. That’s what we need. Not a performer or a resister. A vessel. She’ll do exactly what we tell her to, because she just proved she’ll beg for the privilege.” He shrugged. “Diana decides at the vote.”
Andra let out a shriek of pure rage. Silviu grunted, indifferent now that his biological imperative was spent. Elena simply nodded, as if a logical equation had been solved.
Diana’s sobs hiccupped to a stop. A strange, wet light dawned in her dark eyes. She had been chosen. Through degradation, through utter collapse, she had won. She wiped her face, smearing black mascara like war paint. She didn’t thank them. She just started to plan, her mind already twisting the humiliation into a narrative of power.
She would decide. The empty vessel would now hold the fate of someone else. The thought dried her tears faster than any towel.
=====
The thought dried her tears faster than any towel.
Across the compound, in the hollow quiet of an equipment shed fragrant with chlorine and rubber, desperation wore different masks. Alexia had fled there after her violation in the steam room, her skin still feeling the phantom burn of the marble and the cold drip of Rhomir’s come. She was trying to scrub the memory from her mind with the rough nap of a towel when Valentina found her. The Beaver’s eyes were red-rimmed, her movements jerky, the ghost of Kofi’s brutal assessment and Briv’s violating thrusts still screaming in her nerves.
“They’re voting for me,” Valentina whispered, the words crumbling at the edges. “I know it.”
“They already voted for me,” Alexia replied, her voice hollow. Her femme fatale aura was ashes. “They just used his cock to count the ballots.”
They didn’t hug. They stood in shared ruin, two stylish, popular things now cracked open and discarded.
The door rattled open. Theo stood there, backlit by the failing sunset, his spiky hair a dark crown. His arrogance was a physical heat radiating into the shed. “Heard you both got put through the wringer,” he said, stepping inside and letting the door swing shut. “Saw you slinking away. Figured you could use a friend.”
“We’re not friends, Theo,” Alexia spat, but there was no force behind it.
“Tonight, anyone not trying to slit your throat is a friend,” Theo countered, leaning against a stack of foam mats. His gaze travelled over them, a mechanic assessing damaged machinery. “The Parrots are voting for me. Staged a whole fucking porn scene to prove I’m a weak link.” He shrugged, the picture of casual defiance. “But I’m not gone yet. And neither are you. Not if we make some noise. Remind them what they’re throwing away.”
Valentina’s superficial mind latched onto the hope. “How?”
Theo’s smile was all teeth. “By taking what we want. Right now. On our terms.” He unbuttoned his jeans. “They think they broke you? They just emptied you out. Makes you fucking perfect. No baggage. Just raw, hungry need. Let me see it.”
It was madness. It was also the only offer on the table that wasn’t a death sentence. Alexia, her classy pretenses vaporized, stared at his growing cock. It was average, unimpressive, but it was an instrument. It was a chance to feel something other than used-up and discarded. To be the user.
“Fuck it,” Alexia breathed. She pulled her top off, her medium breasts swaying. Valentina, desperate for any anchor, followed, shedding her clothes with frantic haste.
Theo pushed his jeans down. His cock sprung free, fully hard. “Good girls. Now, get on your knees. Together.”
They knelt on the hard concrete floor, the chill seeping into their bones. Alexia went first, wrapping her lips around the head, sucking with a mechanistic focus. It wasn’t pleasure; it was reclamation. Valentina followed, her mouth finding the shaft, licking and kissing his balls with a sloppy, needy enthusiasm.
“Yeah, just like that,” Theo grunted, his head falling back. He fisted a hand in Alexia’s long brown hair, guiding her pace. His other hand gripped Valentina’s hair, pushing her face deeper into his groin. “Suck my fucking dick. Clean it. Make it yours.”
They worked in a silent, grim tandem. Alexia deep-throated him until she gagged, tears of strain, not emotion, filling her eyes. Valentina whimpered, nuzzling and sucking his scrotum, her hands clutching at his thighs. Theo’s breathing grew ragged. “Enough. Up. Bend over that mat stack.”
They obeyed, rising on trembling legs to present themselves. Alexia’s fit, round ass, still marked from Rhomir’s grip, aimed at him. Valentina’s slightly tanned, fit round ass beside it. Theo spat into his palm, slicked himself, and without ceremony, drove into Alexia’s pussy from behind.
She cried out, a short, sharp sound of re-invasion. He fucked her with hard, measured strokes, each one a punctuation mark. “This what you needed, you precious bitch?” he growled. “A real fuck, not that committee meeting they gave you?”
Alexia didn’t answer. She pushed back against him, meeting each thrust, her teeth gritted. Valentina watched, her hand sliding between her own legs, fingers circling her clit in frantic, uneven circles.
Theo pulled out of Alexia, his cock shining wet. He turned to Valentina. “Your turn, gossip girl.” He penetrated her with the same unceremonious shove. She was looser, wetter from her own fingers, and she mewled, a high-pitched sound of relief. He pounded her, the sound of his hips against her ass a flat, repetitive slap. “You’re just a desperate cunt, aren’t you? You’d let anyone in if it meant you got to stay.”
“Yes,” Valentina sobbed, the truth wrenched from her. “Anyone, Theo, please, just don’t let me go.”
He was switching between them, a brutal metronome, taking three strokes in one, then four in the other, keeping them both on the edge, teetering. The shed was filled with the smell of their sweat, Theo’s musk, and the tang of sex.
The door clicked open.
No one heard it over the noise. Elena Chiriac stood in the doorway, backlit like a viper in the gloom. She watched for a full minute, her doll-like face expressionless, her green eyes missing nothing. She saw the desperation, the raw utility of the act. It wasn’t passion. It was a Hail Mary performed with genitals.
She stepped inside, locking the door behind her with a soft snick. Theo, mid-thrust into Valentina, froze. Alexia, face pressed to the mat, turned her head.
Elena began undressing, her movements efficient and quiet. “Don’t stop on my account,” she said, her voice cool. “I’m just consolidating resources.”
Theo, after a stunned moment, laughed—a harsh, approving bark. “Fuck yes. Get over here.”
Elena walked over, naked, her body a compact symphony of taut muscle. She didn’t kneel. She pointed to the floor in front of her. “You. Valentina. Here. Now.”
Valentina, confused and aroused, shuffled on her knees to Elena. Elena guided Theo’s cock from behind her, directing it towards her own pussy as she lowered herself onto Valentina’s face. “You eat me. He fucks me. You,” she said, looking at Alexia, “get behind him. Use your mouth. Every part of this machine works.”
A new, more complex engine assembled itself. Valentina’s tongue lapped desperately at Elena’s tight, muscled pussy. Theo, buried to the hilt in Elena, groaned at the shocking, constrictive heat. She was like a silk glove lined with sandpaper. Alexia, moving like an automaton, took Theo’s balls into her mouth, suckling and tonguing the stretched skin.
Elena rode Theo with focused, punishing undulations of her hips, controlling the depth, the angle. Her eyes were open, locked on a point on the wall, calculating. “You’re a placeholder, Theo,” she breathed, not unkindly, a general stating a fact. “But a useful one. You’ll fuck me until I tell you to stop. Then you’ll fuck her again.” She nodded toward Alexia. “You’ll keep going until all the desperation is fucked out and all that’s left is the deal.”
“What deal?” Theo grunted, his hands gripping her narrow waist.
“The one where you all vote how I tell you to,” Elena said, her voice hitting a plateau as Theo’s thrusts stuttered. “Diana holds our team’s vote. She’ll do what I say. That’s two. Add your two, if you survive your own vote… that’s a block. A bloc that decides who goes home tonight. Not Rhomir. Not Kofi. Me.”
The revelation surged through Theo, fueling him. He hammered up into her, his orgasm coiling. Elena felt it. She clamped down, milking him, forcing the climax from him as she would extract a signature. Theo shouted, pulsing inside her, his body buckling.
True to her word, she dismounted while he was still spurting. She pointed to Alexia. “Now her. Show me you’re worth the salvage.”
Theo, spent but running on pure arrogance, pulled his slick cock from Elena and pushed Alexia onto her back on the mats. He drove into her, his come mixing with her fluids. Alexia wrapped her legs around him, her dark eyes over Theo’s shoulder, locking with Elena’s. It was no longer a fuck of desperation. It was a fuck of contract. A dark, silent pact sealed in sweat and submission.
Elena watched, a faint, cold smile on her lips. She had entered a scene of ruin and had begun, efficiently, to rebuild it in her own image. The vote was no longer a question of who was weakest. It was a question of who held the most debta currency she now understood better than anyone.