Chapter 66: Trial 13 - Parrots VS Salamanders
The news of the team swaps moved through the villa not as gossip, but as a seismic report. Boundaries, already porous, had vaporized. The pool area, usually a stage for sunbathing and subtle glances, hummed with a new, jagged energy. It was a neutral zone now, a boardroom for renegotiated alliances.
Mihnea felt the shift like a change in barometric pressure. His confidence, usually a thin veneer over a core of desperate calculation, had been sandblasted by the spectacle of Kofi and Andre. He was lean where they were monumental, average where they were mythic. The Parrots were in shambles—Andra was a ghost haunting the villa, Dariana seemed permanently imprinted by Andre, Valentina had defected to the Jaguars. He was, by default, the last man standing on a sinking ship.
He found his moment in the late afternoon sun. The water glittered, a sharp contrast to the shadows in his head. Elena EM, Antonia, and Nicola were seated at a submerged poolside table, their legs shimmering in the turquoise water. They were the new core of the Salamanders, a triad of potent, unclaimed energy. Elena EM, with her kind humor and above-average curves; Antonia, vibrating with a restless, boyish creativity; and Nicola, the blonde strategist, whose calm felt like the eye of a storm.
He walked over, the slap of his flip-flops on wet tile announcing him. He didn’t have Rhomir’s imposing silence or Briv’s easy charisma. He had his lean frame and a will that felt like a clenched fist in his gut.
“Consolidating power?” he asked, forcing a casual tone as he sat on the pool’s edge, dipping his feet in.
Nicola looked up, her dark eyes assessing. “Taking inventory. Our team’s asset portfolio has changed. We have… diverse skill sets.” Her glance at Antonia and Elena was pointed.
Elena EM smiled, swirling her drink. “Skill sets. That’s one way to put it. I hear your portfolio got raided, Mihnea. Down to what, just you and Andreea?”
The dig landed. Mihnea’s jaw tightened. “Assets can be borrowed. Or taken.”
Antonia snorted, splashing water lightly.“You? Taking?From who? Kofi’s dust? Andre’s shadow?” Her words were playful, but they carried the sting of her own night with Rhomir, a memory that still buzzed beneath her skin. She was itching for a fight, or a fuck, anything to override the ghost of that thick, 20cm imprint.
Mihnea felt the challenge like a physical touch. This was his crucible. He stood, pulling his shirt over his head. His body was toned, but not awe-inspiring. It was a negotiator’s body.
“You think it’s about size?” he said, his voice dropping, losing its forced ease. “It’s about application. Strategy. You,” he looked at Nicola, “you understand that. You swapped teams to get a better position. This,” he gestured between them, “is a better position.For me. You’re the new Salamander core. Unattached.Powerful. And I’m going to fuck all three of you.Right here. Right now.”
The boldness was so stark it sucked the casual air from the space. Elena EM’s eyebrows raised, her K-pop party-girl persona shifting into something more intrigued. Antonia stopped splashing, her dark eyes widening then narrowing with competitive interest. Nicola simply watched, a slow smile playing on her lips. This was data. A move. It was, in its own arrogant way, respectable.
“All three?” Antonia laughed, a sharp, challenging sound. “Your average dick and a dream, huh?”
“It’s not the tool,” Mihnea said, stepping down into the pool, the water rising to his waist. “It’s the tradesman. And I’m claiming this worksite.” He moved towards them, the water sloshing. “Elena. You like to be friendly. Be friendly.”
Elena EM, the oldest, felt a thrill that was part amusement, part genuine arousal. He was so serious, so transparent in his ambition. She stood, the water dripping from her above-average breasts. “And what’s the job, foreman?”
He pointed to the broad, padded pool ledge. “Bend over it. Show me that big, round ass everyone’s been admiring.”
She exchanged a glance with Nicola, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. Let’s see his strategy. Elena turned, placing her hands on the warm concrete, arching her back. Her fit, big round ass, barely covered by a tiny black bikini bottom, was now a perfect offering.
Mihnea moved behind her. He didn’t fumble. He hooked his fingers in the sides of her bikini and pulled it down to her thighs. The sight, the casual ownership of the act, made Antonia bite her lip. He spat roughly into his hand, slicked his cock—average, but hard and ready—and without ceremony, pressed the head against Elena’s entrance.
“You’re the welcoming committee,” he grunted, and pushed in.
Elena gasped, her head dropping. He was a good size, thick enough to stretch her satisfyingly after the night’s emptiness. He set a steady, deep rhythm, his hips slapping against her buttocks. “See?” he said, his voice gaining a gritty confidence. “Solid.Reliable. You don’t need a monster truck for a well-paved road.”
He looked at Antonia and Nicola, who were watching, transfixed. “Antonia. You’re next. Get in the water. On your knees.”
Antonia, always one to meet a challenge, slid off the seat and into the water, submerging herself before popping up in front of Elena’s face. The water beaded on her tanned skin, her small breasts peaking in the cool air. Mihnea kept fucking Elena, his pace unwavering.
“You wanna be one of the boys?” he said to Antonia, his breath coming harder. “Then suck my dick while I fuck your friend. Let’s see that party animal energy.”
Antonia’s competitive fire flared. She wasn’t going to be outdone. She moved forward, ducking her head under the water, and took Mihnea’s balls into her mouth, suckling and licking as he plunged in and out of Elena. The sensation of warm water and hot, skilled mouth made Mihnea groan. He tangled a hand in Antonia’s long black hair, guiding her mouth up to his shaft. She took him in, bobbing her head with a frantic, eager rhythm, her tongue swirling around the head each time she came up for air.
“Fuck yes,” Mihnea hissed. “Two Salamanders, one purpose. Taking my cock like it’s their fucking mission statement.”
Elena was moaning now, pushing back against him, her earlier amusement gone, replaced by a deep, rolling pleasure. “Don’t stop… God, just like that,” she begged, her composure unraveling.
Mihnea looked at Nicola, who was still seated, her legs crossed, observing like a analyst. Her calm was infuriating. He needed her unhinged.
“Nicola,” he commanded. “Your turn.Get over here. I want you to taste her.”
Nicola’s eyes flashed. This was the calculation. To join was to validate his play. To refuse was to cede control of the narrative. She stood, shedding her wrap. Her body was a weapon of a different kind—sleek, precious, reserved. She walked through the water, her movements graceful, and knelt beside Elena’s head.
“You heard him, scumpo,” Elena panted, turning her face to Nicola. “Make me scream.”
Nicola leaned in and kissed Elena, deeply, messily, her tongue exploring as Mihnee pounded into her teammate. She then trailed her mouth down Elena’s neck, to her breasts, taking a nipple between her teeth and biting down gently. Elena cried out, the dual sensation pushing her toward the edge.
“You’re a good strategist,” Mihnea grunted, watching Nicola work. “You know when to deploy assets. Right now, your mouth is an asset. Use it.”
Nicola moved lower, her blonde hair fanning in the water. She replaced Mihnea’s hand, pressing her fingers against Elena’s clit, rubbing firm, tight circles as Mihnea fucked her. The coordination was electric, a circuit of pleasure closing between the three of them.
Mihnea felt his climax building, a tight coil in his gut. He pulled out of Elena, who whimpered at the sudden emptiness. He turned to Antonia, pulling her up by her hair. “My turn to taste,” he muttered, and kissed her fiercely, tasting himself on her lips. He lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist, and guided his cock into her in one fluid motion. Antonia gasped, her tightness a vice around him after the night with Rhomir. This was different—urgent, claiming, personal.
“You’re not a replacement,” he breathed into her ear, pounding her against the pool wall. “You’re an upgrade. Fuck his memory out. Right now.”
He drove into her, the water splashing around them. Antonia clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders, her cries sharp and uninhibited. “Yes! Fuck, yes!Do it! Make me forget!”
Nicola, seeing Mihnea close, made her final move. She positioned herself behind him, her hands on his ass, pushing him deeper into Antonia. She then whispered in his ear, her voice a cool, authoritative contrast to the heat. “You want to win? Then win. Fill her up.Mark your territory. She’s a Salamander. You’re a Parrot. This is a hostile takeover. Now finish it.”
Her words, her clinical tone framing the raw act as conquest, pushed him over. With a guttural shout that echoed off the villa walls, Mihnea erupted inside Antonia, his body shuddering, his average dick delivering a climax that felt anything but. He held her there, pulsing, as she clenched around him, her own orgasm ripping through her with a surprised, broken cry.
He slowly let her down, his breath ragged. He turned, still hard, dripping with water and sweat and spent passion. Elena was watching, her hand between her own legs, finishing what he started. Nicola stood, impassive, but her cheeks were flushed.
Mihnea walked to the pool steps and sat, spent but vibrating with a new, unshakeable authority. He looked at the three women—one satisfied, one overwhelmed, one calculating. He had done it. Not with mythic size, but with audacity and tactical precision.
A soft chime echoed from the villa’s speakers. The host’s smooth, disembodied voice followed.
“Observation noted. A demonstration of decisive command and team coordination under unconventional circumstances. Points awarded for ambition, resource utilization, and strategic execution. One hundred points to the Dangerous Parrots.”
The words hung in the humid air.
Mihnea looked up at the camera discreetly mounted under the eaves. He hadn’t known they were being judged. But Nicola had. She met his gaze, a faint smile on her lips. She had known. And she had guided him to the win.
The Parrots weren’t dead. They were a skeleton crew with a leader who had just learned how to weaponize desire. And he had three very potent, very compromised allies on the rival team. The game had just become exponentially more intricate.
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The game had just become exponentially more intricate.
Mihnea’s points landed not as a celebration, but as a declaration of open season. The broadcasted verdict made every touch, every glance, a potential transaction. In the shadowy cabana bar, Arman watched the replay on a muted screen, his expensive vodka tasting sour. He’d been talking about torque and horsepower while Mihnea, that lean fuck, had been drafting a blueprint for a different kind of engine.
“Unconventional circumstances,” Arman muttered, mimicking the host’s voice. “Resource utilization. Fuck that.” He’d been sidelined during the orgy, a talker in a room of doers. Valentina had used his cock as a mouthpiece. The memory gnawed at him.
He needed a statement. Not whispers in a steam room or a strategic poolside fuck. He needed a spectacle so loud it would drown out Mihnea’s calculated groans. His eyes tracked the four figures moving like wounded birds through the manicured garden paths. Andra, cloaked in a icy silence. Dariana, moving with a stiffness that spoke of deep, recent aches. Valentina, buzzing with her new Jaguar affiliation but alone. Andreea, loyal and adrift, her sensual outfits suddenly just costumes without a stage.
They were all Salamanders now. His team. His resources.
He abandoned his drink. The evening air was warm, thick with the scent of jasmine and strategic failure. He intercepted them at a fork in the path where landscaped hedges formed a private alcove, its center dominated by a wide, flat-topped limestone fountain.
“Group therapy?” Arman asked, his voice cutting through their quiet murmurs. All four women turned. Their collective gaze—Andra’s bitter green eyes, Dariana’s wary fatigue, Valentina’s impatient curiosity, Andreea’s hopeful confusion—was a challenge he intended to meet head-on.
“We’re discussing the new… organizational structure,” Andra said, her tone implying he was an irrelevant middle manager.
“Structure?” Arman laughed, a short, sharp sound. He walked to the fountain’s edge, trailing his fingers in the water. “Your structure is that you’re all fucked. Literally. Rhomir dumped you. Andre broke you. Mihnea just used you for points. You’re walking, talking vacancies.”
The brutal accuracy of it made Dariana flinch. Valentina crossed her arms. “And you’re the solution, I suppose? Mr. Motorcycle and Monologues?”
He turned, leaning against the cool stone. “I’m the only man here who hasn’t treated you like a disposable component. I see the whole machine.” He unbuttoned his shirt slowly, letting it hang open. His body was toned, a product of good genes and better gyms, but it was his confidence that filled the space. “Andra. You want to be precious? Precious things get displayed. On your knees by the fountain. Now.”
Andra’s eyes flashed with defiant pride. But the memory of being incidental, of Rhomir’s retreating back, was stronger. That pride curdled into a need to be central at any cost. She held his gaze for a three-count, then sank gracefully to the damp flagstones, the rough stone biting into her knees. The submission was an execution of her own will.
“Good. Valentina. You love to talk. You’re gonna swallow every word.” He unbuckled his belt, the sound loud in the leafy enclosure. His cock, average but impressively hard, sprang free. He pointed it at Valentina’s mouth. “Suck. And make it messy. I want to hear you gag.”
Valentina, ever the social climber, saw the momentum. This was the new center. She dropped her facade of annoyance and crawled forward on all fours, taking him into her mouth with a hungry, sloppy enthusiasm. She deep-throated him, her lips stretching, a string of saliva immediately coating his shaft. The wet, gulping sounds were obscenely loud.
Arman groaned, his head tipping back. He looked at Dariana and Andreea. “You two. You’re dancers. Show me your flexibility. Clothes off. Get on the fountain.”
Dariana exchanged a glance with Andreea. There was a silent communication, a shared understanding that in this economy, participation was the only currency left. They shed their clothes, their bodies—one feline and lean, the other lush and curved—gleaming in the moody garden lights. They climbed onto the broad, flat rim of the fountain, water cascading down the tiered center behind them.
“Dariana, on your back. Head over the edge. Andreea, straddle her face. I want your pussy on her mouth.” His commands were clean, direct, wasted no breath.
Dariana laid back, her long brown hair fanning into the shallow water of the fountain’s upper basin. Andreea swung a leg over her, lowering her fit, big round ass until her wet pussy hovered above Dariana’s lips. Dariana looked up, then her dancer’s discipline took over. She licked a long, slow stripe up Andreea’s slit.
Andreea gasped, her head falling back, her big round breasts heaving. “Oh god, yes…”
Arman watched, orchestrating chaos. He pulled Valentina off his cock by her hair. A strand of spit connected her lips to his glistening head. “Now you,” he said to her. “Doggy. Right here. Give me that round little ass.”
Valentina scrambled into position, presenting her fit, tanned ass. Arman spat into his hand, lubricated himself roughly, and without preamble, drove his full length into her. Valentina shrieked, a sound of pure, startled penetration, before pushing back against him with fervor.
“Fuck! Yes! Talk to me, scumpo!” she demanded, throwing the challenge back at him.
“You’re a loud, needy little hole,” Arman grunted, setting a brutal, piston-like rhythm, his balls slapping against her. “All that gossip just hot air. This is what fills you up. This is the only story that matters.”
He reached over Valentina’s heaving back, his hand finding Andra’s hair. He guided her head back to his cock, which was slick with Valentina’s saliva. “Andra. Clean her off. Taste what a real slut looks like.”
Andra, her preciousness now a performance for an audience of one, obeyed. She licked Valentina’s juices from his shaft with a deliberate, filthy thoroughness, then took him deep, her green eyes open, locked on his. The humiliation was a crown she wore willingly.
The tableau was a living engine of depravity. Arman fucked Valentina’s clutching pussy in deep, measured strokes. Andra serviced his cock with a devastating, silent precision. On the fountain, Dariana’s tongue worked expertly on Andreea’s clit, making the other woman writhe and clutch at the stone, while Andreea’s own hands pinched and pulled at her large, sensitive nipples.
“Switch!” Arman commanded, his voice fraying at the edges. He pulled out of Valentina, who whimpered at the loss. “Andreea. My turn. Dariana, you take Valentina. Use your mouth. Make her scream louder than I did.”
The reorganization was swift, a testament to their shared, desperate hunger. Andreea slid off Dariana, her body slick with sweat and arousal. She took Valentina’s place on hands and knees. Arman entered her from behind, her incredible tightness making him see stars. “Christ, you’re a perfect fit,” he groaned, his arrogance momentarily replaced by genuine awe.
At the same time, Dariana pulled the begging Valentina to the fountain’s edge and buried her face between her thighs, her tongue a relentless, skilled piston. Valentina’s screams dissolved into choked, babbling pleas. Andra, not to be left idle, knelt beside Dariana, licking and sucking at Andreea’s swinging breasts as Arman pounded into her.
The air grew thick with the smell of sex, wet stone, and crushed foliage. The sounds—slapping skin, gasping orders, the desperate suck of mouths and cunts, the constant rush of fountain water—merged into a single symphony of abandon.
“I’m gonna come,” Arman gritted out, his rhythm breaking into frantic, shallow thrusts. “Where do you want it? Where does the team need it?”
“Inside!” Andreea begged, pushing back against him violently. “Fill me up, do it!”
“On my face!” Valentina screamed, pulling Dariana’s head closer.
Arman made a choice. He pulled out of Andreea’s gripping heat, his cock aching and purplish. He staggered to where Valentina lay splayed, Dariana’s mouth still working between her legs. He fisted his shaft, stroking roughly.
“Open your eyes,” he ordered Valentina. “Watch your dividend.”
With a final, guttural shout, he came. Thick, white ropes sprayed across Valentina’s face, streaking her cheek, her chin, catching in her eyelashes. She opened her mouth, capturing the last few spurts on her tongue with a hungry, victorious moan. The visual was one of utter, complete ownership.
He staggered back, spent, leaning against the hedge for support. The four women—marked, used, interconnected—lay panting in various states of disarray. The garden alcove looked like the site of a beautiful, brutal accident.
From a hidden speaker in a faux-rock, the soft chime echoed.
“Analysis complete,” the host’s voice purred, devoid of all judgment. “A masterful demonstration of team leadership and directive control under complex, multi-variable conditions. Efficient resource allocation leading to synchronized high-yield output.” A pause, almost appreciative. “One hundred and fifty points to the Dangerous Parrots.”
The points, higher than Mihnea’s, were a numeric verdict. Arman, still catching his breath, looked at the four spent Salamanders—his Salamanders. He hadn’t just fucked them. He’d conducted them. And in doing so, he’d bankrupted Mihnea’s victory and claimed the night.
The Parrots, through the proxy of a Salamander’s command, were now undeniably in the lead. The board was reset. The only remaining question was who, or what, could possibly top a spectacle that had already redefined the meaning of a team player.