Chapter 63: Trial 12 - Jaguars VS Beavers
The compound carried the stale residue of the previous night’s transactions. In the Jaguar cabin, a different kind of tension hummed—not the hollow shock of the Salamanders, nor the desperate calculation of the Parrots, but a patient, gathering focus. Emilia sat on a low stool, braiding her long brown hair with precise, thoughtful motions. Daria lifted a makeshift weight, the muscles in her shoulders coiling and releasing, her very big, round ass tightening with each squat. Valentina gossiped to no one in particular about the quality of the sunscreen.
Rhomir stood by the window, his muscular frame blocking the light. He watched the Beavers across the way. They moved with a lazy, proprietary air. Kofi laughing by the fire pit. Briv holding court. The women—Diana, Nicola, Loredana, Cesima—arrayed around them like prized ornaments. They had observed the last trials. They thought themselves above the fray, judges in their own colosseum.
“They’re comfortable,” Emilia said, not looking up from her braiding. Her voice was a soft scalpel. “It makes them vulnerable.”
Rhomir’s dry humour surfaced as a faint smirk. “Comfortable people hate getting dirty.”
Daria dropped the weight with a thud. “So we dirty them up.”
The Host’s announcement, when it came, lacked fanfare. It was a clinical decree. “A dynamic adjustment. A ‘Benefit’ trial. The participating tribes: the Brilliant Jaguars and the Glorious Beavers. Selected participants: Rhomir of the Jaguars. And Diana, Nicola, Loredana, and Cesima of the Beavers.”
A stunned silence, then a burst of outraged chatter from the Beaver enclave. Kofi’s laugh died. Briv’s charismatic smile froze. They were not supposed to be on the menu.
Diana’s face flickered with intrigue, then a practiced, flirty indignation. Nicola went very still, her blonde hair catching the sun, her brain visibly recalculating. Loredana looked from Kofi to Rhomir, assessing the shift in power with a mercenary’s eyes. Cesima, the kind former dancer, paled, her friendly demeanor collapsing into dread.
Rhomir simply cracked his neck, a slow, deliberate motion. He met Emilia’s gaze. She gave him a single, almost imperceptible nod. Win.
The location was the same stretch of beach, but the energy was fundamentally altered. The Beavers were not observers here; they were exhibits. Their own tribe, the Jaguars, and the shattered remnants of the Parrots and Salamanders formed the audience. The ocean was a slate grey, the sky a hard, cloudless blue.
Rhomir arrived first. He stripped off his shirt, his muscular torso a landscape of defined power. He didn’t pace. He stood, waiting, his thick, 20cm cock already half-hard in his shorts, a silent promise of the ordeal to come. He exuded not Arman’s bluster, nor Mihnea’s frantic ambition, but a settled, imposing certainty.
The four Beaver women approached together, a phalanx of feminine beauty radiating varying degrees of resistance. Diana led, her medium breasts pushed high, her face a mask of entitled irritation. “This is absurd,” she announced, to the air.
“Then forfeit,” Rhomir said, his voice a low rumble. “Your tribe loses five points. Tell Kofi you were too… classy to compete.”
Diana’s eyes flashed. Forfeiting points was social suicide. She was popularity-obsessed; becoming a liability was worse than any sexual act. She tossed her long brown hair. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it. I just said it’s absurd.” She stepped onto the wide mat that had been laid out. “Let’s get this over with.”
Rhomir closed the distance. He didn’t grab her. He looked down at her, his blue eyes holding hers. “You like bad guys, Diana. Toxic guys. You flirt with them.” His hand came up, his thumb brushing her lower lip. “But you’ve never had a real one. You’ve only had boys playing dress-up.”
His words unsettled her script. She tried a pout. “And you’re the real thing?”
“You’re about to find out.” He kissed her, and it was nothing like she expected. It wasn’t sloppy or greedy. It was a consuming, deliberate invasion, his tongue claiming her mouth with an authority that short-circuited her performative resistance. A genuine, unwanted shudder went through her.
He broke the kiss, his hands going to the straps of her top. “Take it off. All of it. I want to see what Kofi and Briv have been admiring.”
Flustered, she undressed, her movements losing their usual flirty flair. Naked, her fit body was beautiful, but she seemed smaller somehow. Rhomir’s gaze was an appraisal, not admiration. “On your knees.”
“What?”
“You heard me. You want to be popular? Show everyone how eager you are to please.”
Humiliation burned her cheeks, but a darker, more forbidden heat pooled low in her belly. She knelt in the sand before him. He freed his cock, now fully erect, thick and veined. He held it at her lips. “Open.”
Diana opened her mouth. He guided himself in, not thrusting, just letting her feel the girth, the weight. “Suck it. Like your social standing depends on it. Because right now, it does.”
She began to suck, her technique born of experience but now edged with real, trembling effort. He let her work, his hands tangled in her hair, not forcing, just guiding. He looked over her head at Kofi, who was watching, stone-faced. “She’s eager,” Rhomir remarked, his voice conversational. “Maybe she prefers a man who doesn’t share.”
Diana moaned around him, the sound vibrating along his length. He pulled her off by her hair. “Enough. Turn around. Bend over. Present that beautiful, round ass.”
She complied, arching her back. Rhomir spat into his palm, slicked his cock, and positioned the broad head at her entrance. He leaned over her, his mouth at her ear. “This is what a bad guy feels like, Diana. Remember this.”
He drove into her in one relentless, deep thrust. She screamed, a sharp, ragged sound that was ripped from her lungs. He filled her utterly, a stretching, burning invasion that obliterated all pretense. He didn’t move at first, letting her feel every inch buried inside her.
“Oh god,” she whimpered.
“Not god. Just a man,” he growled. Then he began to fuck her. It was a punishing, piston-like rhythm, each thrust slamming her forward, her breasts swaying. He gripped her hips hard enough to bruise. “Is this toxic enough for you, you shallow bitch? You like this? You like being used for points?”
“Yes!” she cried, the admission torn from her. Her earlier irritation had melted into a raw, desperate participation. “Fuck! Yes! It’s so deep!”
“It’s all you’re good for right now. A tight, pretty hole to pound. Tell me.”
“I’m a tight, pretty hole!” she sobbed, the filthy words exciting her further. Her own orgasm took her by surprise, a violent convulsion that clamped around him. Rhomir grunted, his pace becoming brutal, focused. With a final, deep plunge, he came, pouring himself into her with a low, satisfied groan. He held himself there for a moment before pulling out, leaving her collapsed and trembling on the mat. “One,” he stated.
He turned, his cock glistening, to face the remaining three. Nicola was next. Her pretty face was set in a look of serious concentration. She was the strategist; she would approach this as a problem to be solved.
She undressed with economical movements, her small breasts and fit, big ass revealed without fanfare. She stood before him, not kneeling, not posturing. “What’s your goal here, Rhomir? Beyond the points.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “To win.”
“By breaking our tribe’s cohesion.”
“By demonstrating its fragility,” he corrected. He reached out, cupping her cheek. She didn’t flinch. “You play hard to get, Nicola. But this isn’t a game of get. This is a game of take.”
He kissed her, and she allowed it, her lips firm. He explored her mouth, his hands roaming down her back to grasp her ample ass, squeezing the firm globe. She gasped into the kiss. He broke it, walking her backwards until her legs hit the edge of a low, flat rock. “Sit.”
She sat, the cool stone against her thighs. He pushed her onto her back, her blonde hair fanning out. He knelt between her legs, pushing them apart. He didn’t go down on her. Instead, he rubbed the head of his cock through her folds. She was wet. Her body, despite her formidable mind, was responding.
“Your body is smarter than you are,” he murmured, positioning himself. “It knows what it needs.”
He entered her slowly, an excruciating, inch-by-inch conquest. Nicola bit her lip, her dark eyes wide, fixed on his. She was analyzing the sensation, trying to maintain control. He bottomed out, hilting himself inside her. “Fuck,” she breathed, a crack in her analytical façade.
“That’s the idea,” he said, and began to move. His strokes were deep, measured, relentless. He watched her face, watching the struggle between her mind and her nerves. He leaned down, his mouth close to hers. “You’re a good strategist. Plan your way out of this. Think your way out of this fist-thick cock splitting you open.”
She couldn’t. Her breath came in short pants. Her hands, which had been at her sides, flew to his shoulders, her nails digging in. “Harder,” she heard herself say. The strategist was gone, replaced by a raw, wanting animal.
“Beg for it.”
“Please. Fuck me harder, Rhomir. Please.”
He obliged, his hips snapping faster, the sound of their coupling a wet, smacking rhythm. He hooked his arms under her knees, pushing them back towards her shoulders, opening her impossibly wider, sinking deeper. “Who do you belong to right now?” he grunted.
“You! I belong to you!” she screamed, her climax detonating, a wave of pure, mindless sensation that left her shuddering. He rode it out, then followed her over, his release hot and flooding. He withdrew, and she lay splayed on the rock, utterly dismantled. “Two.”
Loredana was already stepping forward, her wealth-oriented mind seeing a sunk cost. The transaction was happening; best to negotiate terms. She undressed with a feminine grace, displaying her above-average breasts and big round ass proudly. “Let’s make this… enjoyable,” she said, her voice a purr.
Rhomir smiled, a cold, knowing thing. “You value people based on interest. How interesting am I right now?”
“Very,” she admitted, running her hands over his chest.
He turned her around, bending her over the same rock Nicola still lay upon. He ran his hands over the lush curves of her ass. “You like parties? Socializing? This is the main event.” He didn’t prepare her. He spit on his hand, wiped it over her entrance and his re-hardened cock, and pushed in.
Loredana gasped, her composure slipping. He was thick, and he took her with a ruthless efficiency. He fucked her doggedly, one hand gripping her hip, the other tangling in her long black hair. “You’re a beautiful investment,” he panted, each thrust jarring her. “A high-yield asset. Tell me your value.”
“I’m… I’m priceless!” she moaned, the words a commodity.
“Wrong. Right now, you’re worth exactly five points. And you’re about to pay out.” He hammered into her, his balls slapping against her. Her calculative front shattered into jagged pleasure. She met his thrusts wildly, her ass jiggling with the force. “Come for your points, Loredana. Earn your keep.”
She did, crying out as her orgasm seized her, her inner walls milking him. He growled, pumping his seed into her with several final, deep drives. “Three.”
He pulled out, turning to the last one. Cesima. The friendly one. The kind one. She was crying silently, her green eyes full of fear. She had watched her friends, her tribe, be systematically unraveled.
“I don’t want to,” she whispered.
“I know,” Rhomir said, his voice losing none of its intensity, but gaining a different texture. “That’s what makes it necessary.”
She undressed with trembling hands, her tanned skin pebbling with goosebumps. Her dancer’s body was toned, vulnerable. She stood before him, shaking. Rhomir didn’t force her to kneel. He gathered her into his arms, surprising her. He kissed her, and it wasn’t brutal. It was deep, consuming, almost tender in its thoroughness. It confused her, disarmed her completely.
He lowered her to a softer patch of sand, lying beside her. He touched her gently, his big hands roaming her body, teasing her nipples, stroking her thighs until a traitorous warmth bloomed between them. “It’s okay,” he murmured against her neck. “Just let go. You don’t have to be kind here. You don’t have to be friendly. You just have to feel.”
He moved over her, guiding his cock to her wetness. He entered her slowly, agonizingly slowly, filling her with a stretching fullness that made her whimper. He didn’t speak filth to her. He watched her face, his blue eyes holding her green ones. “There,” he whispered as he seated himself fully. “See? You can take it. You can take all of me.”
He began to move, a slow, grinding, deep rhythm. It was not violent, but it was profoundly dominating. He was making love to her surrender. Cesima’s tears fell faster. Her legs wrapped around him of their own accord. Her kindness was being weaponized against her, her own responsive body betraying her fear. A sweet, awful pleasure built, more terrifying than any rough fuck.
“Please,” she begged, not knowing what she was begging for.
“I know,” he said again, and kissed her tears. His pace increased, becoming more urgent. The tenderness fractured into raw need. “Come for me, Cesima. Let me feel you break.”
Her orgasm was a quiet, devastating quake, a sob of release that tore from her throat. He held her through it, then let his own control go, pumping into her with a series of hard, deep spasms, his face buried in her reddish-brown hair.
He collapsed beside her, breathing heavily. After a moment, he stood. He looked at the four Beaver women—Diana drained, Nicola shattered, Loredana used, Cesima broken. He looked at the Host.
“Completion verified,” the Host announced, his voice cutting the thick silence. “Five points are awarded to the Jaguar tribe.”
There was no cheer from the Jaguars. Emilia simply nodded, a small, satisfied curve to her lips. Daria cracked a smile. Valentina looked impressed.
The Beavers were a portrait of ruin. Kofi’s chill was gone, replaced by a cold, seething anger. Briv’s charisma had evaporated; he looked at Nicola’s vacant expression and then at Rhomir with unvarnished hatred. Their cohesion, their arrogant unity, lay in tatters on the sand.
Rhomir pulled on his shorts, his work done. He had won the points. But more importantly, he had turned the observers into the victims, and in doing so, had reminded everyone that in this game, no position was safe. The only true comfort was delusion.
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The only true comfort was delusion, and in the Beaver cabin, that delusion curdled into a hard, silent rage. Kofi cleaned his knife with methodical precision, the steel gleaming under the cabin’s single bulb. Briv stared at the wall, his usual charismatic levity replaced by a cold focus. They had been made spectacles. Their women had been broken open, not just physically, but in the way their tribe’s invincible aura had leaked out into the sand.
“We answer,” Kofi finally said, his voice quiet. “Not with shouting. Not with complaints to the Host. We answer on the sand. We answer in kind.”
Briv nodded, his mind already working through the permutations. “The Jaguars are riding high. Confident. Emilia’s the brain. Daria’s the brute confidence. Valentina’s the noise. They’ll expect a counter-punch, but they’ll expect it to be messy, emotional.”
“We won’t be messy,” Kofi said, sheathing the knife. “We’ll be surgical. We take their strength and make it their shame.”
The Host’s next summons felt inevitable. The air in the assembly area was charged, a new voltage humming between the Beavers and the Jaguars. The other tribes watched like scavengers sensing a fresh kill.
“A rebalancing,” the Host announced, his smile bland. “A ‘Benefit’ trial. Participants: Briv and Kofi of the Glorious Beavers. And Emilia, Daria, and Valentina of the Brilliant Jaguars.”
Emilia didn’t react, but her dark eyes sharpened, calculating the move instantly. Daria smiled, a competitive fire igniting in her gaze. Valentina looked nervously from her tribemates to the two imposing Beaver men. “All three of us? With both of them?” she whispered, her gossip’s mind racing through the social ramifications.
“It’s a points equation, not a party,” Emilia murmured back, her voice devoid of fear. “Stay focused.”
The location shifted to a more secluded cove, ringed by black rocks that trapped the sound of the surf and amplified it into a roar. Torches were staked into the sand, casting a wild, flickering light that made shadows leap and twist. It felt primal, a colosseum carved by the sea.
Briv and Kofi arrived together, a study in contrasts. Kofi moved with a lean, predatory stillness, his dreadlocks tied back, his ebony skin absorbing the torchlight. Briv was all contained kinetic energy, his intelligent eyes scanning the three Jaguar women as if assessing entry points in a fortress.
Emilia stepped forward first, the de facto commander. “You want payback for your girls,” she stated, no question in her tone.
“We want restoration of order,” Briv corrected, his voice calm, conversational. “You destabilized a system. We’re the correction.”
“By fucking us?” Daria challenged, rolling her shoulders. “Good luck.”
Kofi’s laugh was a low, dark sound. “You think your glutes workouts prepared you for this? This isn’t the gym, câtel. This is the forge.”
The Host’s signal was a sharp drop of a cloth. The trial began.
Briv focused on Emilia. He knew she was the linchpin. He approached her not with Rhomir’s brute domination, but with a disarming, analytical curiosity. “Let’s see what the famous emotional intelligence feels like from the inside,” he said, closing the distance.
He didn’t grab her. He simply started unbuttoning her shirt, his movements deliberate. Emilia held his gaze, her deceptive beauty a weapon she kept sheathed for now. When she was bare from the waist up, her small breasts firm in the night air, he traced a finger down her sternum. “You mesmerize men. Let’s see if you can mesmerize yourself into ignoring this.”
He kissed her, and it was complex—probing, intelligent, seeking the weak point in her focus. Emilia responded, her lips moving against his, playing her part. But when his hand slipped between her legs, palming her through her shorts, she gasped. It was a real sound. Briv smiled against her mouth. “There. The system glitches.”
He laid her back on a flat, damp rock. He removed her remaining clothes, his touch clinical yet thorough. He positioned himself between her thighs, his 20cm cock pressing insistently at her entrance. He didn’t push in. He waited. “Ask for it,” he said.
“Fuck you,” Emilia breathed, her composure cracking.
“Wrong answer.” He lowered his head and licked a slow, torturous stripe up her slit. Emilia’s body arched off the rock. He ate her pussy with a studious, devastating attention to detail, his tongue finding rhythms that bypassed her intellect completely. She tangled her hands in his dark hair, not to push him away, but to anchor herself as waves of unwelcome pleasure built.
“Briv…” she warned, her voice strained.
“Ask. Properly.”
“Please.” The word was ripped from her. “Please fuck me. Now.”
He surged up and drove into her, filling her in one smooth, deep stroke. She cried out, her nails scoring his back. He set a ruthless, precise rhythm, each thrust a calculated attack on her concentration. “Where’s your strategy now, Emilia? Can you manipulate this? Can you manipulate the feeling of my cock punching into your cervix?”
“No,” she moaned, her head thrashing.
“Good. Just be a hole. Be a smart, tight, dripping hole for me to use. Tell me that’s what you are.”
Tears of frustrated ecstasy leaked from her eyes. “I’m a hole,” she gasped. “Your hole.”
“Yes.” He pistoned into her, the slapping sound mixing with the crash of waves. He felt her orgasm seize her, a violent, shuddering clamp that pulled his own release from him. He came with a guttural sigh, spilling into her, his cleverness momentarily obliterated by raw sensation. He pulled out, leaving her gasping on the rock. One.
Across the sand, Kofi had corralled Daria and Valentina. He pointed at Valentina. “You. You love talking. So talk. Tell me what you see while I work on your friend.”
Valentina stood frozen as Kofi turned to Daria. Daria met him stance for stance, her very big, round ass cocked in defiance. “Think you can handle me?” she sneered.
Kofi’s answer was to grab her by the throat, not to choke, but to dominate. He kissed her with a bruising intensity, all teeth and dominance. Daria fought the kiss for a second, then melted into it, a moan rumbling in her chest. She wanted the fight. He tore her clothes off, his hands groping her monumental ass, squeezing hard. “All this workout, just to present this perfect ass for me,” he growled. “Thank you.”
He bent her over, her palms flat on the sand. He stepped back, unleashing the full, terrifying length of his 30cm dick, thick and dark. Valentina whimpered, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh my god,” she whispered.
“Describe it,” Kofi ordered, not looking at her, lining himself up with Daria’s soaked entrance.
“It’s… it’s huge,” Valentina stammered. “It’s monstrous.”
Kofi pushed just the head into Daria. She gasped, her bravado faltering at the sheer size. “And?” Kofi prompted Valentina.
“She’s taking it… just the tip… she’s so tight around it…”
Kofi shoved forward, a brutal, incremental invasion that stretched Daria beyond any limit she’d known. A scream was torn from her lips, a mix of pain and delirious shock. “Now what?” Kofi grunted, beginning a slow, devastating withdrawal.
“You’re stretching her open! Oh fuck, I can see her lips gripping you! She’s… she’s loving it!” Valentina’s voice was high with voyeuristic excitement.
Daria, her face contorted, shouted into the sand. “I AM! Fuck! It’s so deep! Give me all of it, you bastard!”
Kofi obliged, sinking the rest of his impossible length into her, burying himself to the hilt. Daria’s whole body shook. He fucked her with long, deep, punishing strokes, each one making her cry out. “You like to dominate? Dominate this, câtel. Take every inch. Claim it.”
“It’s mine!” she screamed, her competitiveness channeling into a wild, masochistic pride. Her orgasm was a roaring, convulsive thing that seemed to tear through her. Kofi rode it out, then pulled her up by her hair, his cock still embedded in her from behind. He looked at Valentina. “Your turn. Get over here and suck her tits while I finish.”
Valentina, mesmerized and terrified, scrambled forward. She knelt before Daria’s swaying form and took a nipple into her mouth, sucking obediently as Kofi’s thrusts grew frantic. He came with a roar, flooding Daria’s guts, his release seemingly endless. He held himself there, pumping, until he was spent. He withdrew, and Daria collapsed onto her side, a drained, satisfied wreck. Two.
Valentina stared up at Kofi, her eyes wide. He was still hard, monstrously so. He cupped her cheek. “You’re annoyed by things you can’t control. This is one of those things.”
He laid her on her back. He was less brutal with her, almost dismissive, as if she was an afterthought. He pushed into her average-sized, tight pussy, and she gasped at the sheer, stretching fullness. He fucked her with a steady, mechanical rhythm, his eyes on Briv and Emilia. “You love gossip,” he said, his voice detached. “Tell me a secret. Any secret.”
“I… I cheated on my boyfriend to get here,” she blurted out, the words tumbling free under the physical onslaught.
“Boring.” He drove into her harder. “Tell me something good. Tell me what Emilia is planning.”
“I don’t know! She doesn’t tell me!” Valentina cried, her body moving with his, a ragdoll in the grip of a deep, gathering climax. “She thinks I’m stupid!”
“She’s right.” He pinched her nipple, sharp and mean, and that sent her over the edge. She came with a shriek, her back bowing. Kofi followed, finishing inside her with a few final, deep grunts. Three.
Briv and Kofi stood over the three Jaguar women, their breathing slowly steadying in the salt air. The correction was administered. The point was made.
The Host’s voice cut through. “Performance assessed. Five points are awarded to…”
Emilia, from where she lay on the rock, her voice clear and cutting despite her breathlessness, interrupted. “Article 7, subsection C of the contestant agreement. A ‘Benefit’ trial’s points are awarded based on the receiving tribe’s cooperative performance, judged by neutral monitors. Not the performing tribe’s completion.” She slowly sat up, a smile touching her lips. “We cooperated. Enthusiastically, as required. The monitors saw that. The points are ours.”
A dead silence fell, broken only by the surf. Briv stared at her, then let out a short, incredulous laugh. He’d been outmaneuvered. He’d focused on breaking her physically, and she’d used the entire encounter as a deliberate, cooperative act, banking the points all along.
“The Jaguar tribe is correct,” the Host confirmed, sounding almost amused. “Five points are awarded to the Brilliant Jaguars.”
Kofi’s chill finally shattered. He spat into the sand, a raw, furious gesture. They had fucked the Jaguar women raw, but Emilia’s mind had fucked them harder. The Jaguars had the points. The Beavers had only the hollow, echoing aftermath of a victory that wasn’t theirs.