Chapter 67: Trial 13 - Jaguars VS Beavers
The Parrots’ lead was a phantom weight in the villa, invisible but bending every interaction. For the Beavers, it was a particular humiliation. They had Kofi, a living legend, and yet they were adrift, fractious. Diana’s fascination with toxic men had her eyeing Arman’s newfound notoriety with a hungry jealousy. Elena C.’s competitive fury was a silent scream looking for a target. Loredana calculated the social capital and found the Beavers bankrupt. Only Cesima moved with a dancer’s distracted grace, but her kindness was a lonely currency in this new economy.
They congregated at the infinity pool at dusk, not for strategy, but because there was nowhere else to be. The water mirrored the bruising purple sky. Diana lounged on a submerged bench, tracing patterns on the surface. Loredana inspected her nail polish. Elena C. stood rigid at the pool’s edge, as if waiting for a fight. Cesima swam slow, clean laps, her body cutting through the water with a silence that felt accusatory.
Rhomir found them like that. He didn’t arrive; he materialized, a silhouette against the fading light, the messy blonde hair and short beard framing a face that gave nothing away. He carried a bottle of expensive tequila and three glasses stacked in one large hand.
“Looks like a wake,” he said, his voice a dry scrape in the quiet.
Elena C. whirled, her green eyes sharp. “What do you want, Jaguar? Come to gloat?”
“Gloating requires emotional investment,” Rhomir replied, setting the glasses on a low table. He poured three fingers of amber liquid into each. “I’m just bored. Your team’s misery is… ambient noise.”
Diana sat up, water sluicing off her medium breasts. A bad guy. Here was one, wrapped in quiet mystery instead of loud arrogance. It drew her like a magnet. “We’re not miserable. We’re recalibrating.”
“You’re losing.” He took a sip, his blue eyes tracking Cesima as she finished a lap. “You have the components. Charisma.” A nod toward where Briv would be. “Raw power.” A clear reference to Kofi. “And yet here you are, four beautiful liabilities, doing nothing to increase your team’s value.”
Loredana picked up a glass, her wealth-oriented mind recognizing the brand. “And you can increase our value?”
“I can demonstrate your utility.” Rhomir finally looked at Elena C., the most volatile element. “Your little karate hands won’t win points here. That fire in your belly needs redirecting. All of you do. You’re coiled springs with no mechanism.”
Cesima pulled herself out of the pool, water cascading from her tanned skin and fit, big round ass. “What’s your proposal?” Her tone was friendly, but her green eyes were wary.
“A demonstration,” Rhomir said, finishing his drink. He stood, unbuckling his belt with a deliberate, unruffled motion. “You’re Beavers. Supposed to build, to engineer. So let’s engineer a solution. Me. The four of you. All at once. Let’s see if together you can be more than the sum of your frustrated parts.”
He pushed his shorts down, kicking them aside. His thick, 20cm dick was already half-hard, a formidable promise in the dim light. It wasn’t the monstrous length of Kofi or Andre, but it had a severe, muscular girth that looked brutally functional.
Diana’s breath hitched. This was the real thing, not talk. Elena C. scowled, but her eyes were locked on him, calculating the dominance she craved to either break or submit to. Loredana saw the transaction: his notoriety for their potential points. Cesima, the former dancer, assessed the physical logistics with a clinical part of her brain.
“You think you can handle all four of us?” Elena C. spat, stepping closer, her doll-like face set in a challenge.
“I don’t have to handle you,” Rhomir said, his dry humor turning cold. “I’m going to use you. Like tools. Diana. You’re first. You like bad guys? Come here and show me how you welcome them.”
Diana, emboldened by his direct command and the eyes on her, slid off the bench and walked through the water toward him. She stopped before him, her head tilting back. He didn’t kiss her. He grabbed a handful of her long brown hair and turned her around, bending her over the rounded pool edge, her fit, beautiful ass raised in the air. He spat into his palm, slicked his cock, and pressed the blunt, wide head against her entrance.
“This what you gossip about?” he grunted, and sheathed himself inside her with one steady, deep push.
Diana cried out, her hands scrambling on wet concrete. He was stretching her perfectly, the burn making her eyes water. He set a relentless, deep pace, each thrust a punctuation mark. “You’re a warm-up,” he told her, his voice devoid of passion, all analysis. “A primer coat.”
He looked at the others. “Cesima. Your turn. You’re flexible. Get under her.”
Cesima, now committed, moved. She lay on her back on the submerged bench directly beneath Diana. Rhomir pulled out of Diana, who whimpered, and guided her down until Diana’s dripping pussy was positioned over Cesima’s face. “Clean her up. Get her ready for me again.” Cesima obeyed, her dancer’s grace evident as she lifted her head and took Diana’s lower lips into her mouth, licking up the mix of her arousal and Rhomir’s spit.
“Good,” Rhomir said. “Efficiency.” He turned to Loredana. “You. Precious thing. You want value? Your mouth has value. On your knees. Now.”
Loredana lowered herself to the pool deck, her black hair swinging forward. She took him into her mouth without hesitation, her technique polished, hungry. She sucked the length of him, her tongue swirling around the thick head, tasting Diana on him.
Rhomir placed a hand on her head, not forcing, just guiding. He looked at Elena C., who stood rigid, her fists clenched. “You. The fighter. You want to win? Then dominate something. Cesima’s right there. Make her scream.”
A furious light ignited in Elena C.’s eyes. This was a command she could twist into control. She strode into the water, her fit body tense. She didn’t go to Cesima’s face. Instead, she positioned herself behind Cesima’s head, grabbing two handfuls of her brown-reddish hair. “You like eating her out?” Elena C. hissed at Cesima. “Then do it better. Faster. Make her come on your tongue or I’ll drown you.”
Cesima moaned, the aggression sparking her own submission. She redoubled her efforts on Diana, her tongue becoming a frantic, precise instrument. Diana’s moans echoed off the water.
Rhomir, meanwhile, focused on Loredana’s skilled mouth. He fucked her face with short, deep thrusts, hitting the back of her throat. “That’s it. Use that greedy mouth. Show me your net worth.”
He then pulled free, glistening and fully hard. “Switch,” he ordered, his breath finally starting to roughen. “Diana, up. Cesima, on your hands and knees. Loredana, you’re on her face. Elena, you’re with me.”
The reorganization was swift, a chaotic ballet. Diana, trembling from Cesima’s tongue, stumbled aside. Cesima got on all fours on the bench, her incredible round ass raised. Loredana, eager to please, positioned herself over Cesima’s head, lowering her own wet pussy onto her teammate’s waiting mouth. Cesima’s tongue immediately delved into her.
Elena C. stood before Rhomir, her chest heaving. “You don’t order me,” she whispered fiercely.
“I don’t need to,” he said, and grabbed her by the waist, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. He turned and sat on the pool edge, pulling her down onto his lap, impaling her on his thick cock in one brutal, downward motion.
“Ah! FUCK!” Elena screamed, her nails digging into his shoulders. The fullness was shocking, devastating. She was being filled, used as a sheath, and it broke her militant resistance into pure sensation.
“You want to win?” Rhomir growled into her ear, his hips pumping up into her from below. “Then fuck me. Ride this dick like it’s the last thing you’ll ever own. Dominate it.”
Empowered by the command, Elena C. began to move, bouncing on him with a savage, competitive energy, her fit round ass slamming down on his thighs. “I’ll… break… you…” she panted, each word a thrust.
“Unlikely,” Rhomir gasped, his stoicism cracking. He looked past her, at the other three. “Diana! Don’t just watch. Cesima’s ass is right there. Eat it. Make her loose for me.”
Diana, inflamed, dropped to her knees in the water behind Cesima. She spread the dancer’s taut cheeks and buried her face between them, her tongue probing and licking Cesima’s other hole with a desperate hunger.
Cesima shuddered, muffled screams vibrating against Loredana’s pussy as she was assaulted from both ends. Loredana, riding Cesima’s face, threw her head back and wailed, her own climax triggered by the vibrations and the sheer decadence.
Rhomir felt his control fraying. The sight, the sounds—the competitive Elena C. milking him from above, the trio of women entangled in a chain of oral servitude below—was too much. He gripped Elena’s hips, his fingers bruising, and began pistoning up into her with a final, frantic urgency.
“You’re a set of fucking cogs,” he roared, his voice raw. “And I’m the drive shaft! Take it! All of you! Take this fucking load!”
With a guttural shout that tore through the night, he erupted inside Elena C., his thick cock pulsing, pumping his release deep into her clutching heat. The force of his orgasm triggered hers; she seized around him, a silent scream on her lips as her body convulsed.
The chain reaction was instant. Loredana collapsed forward with a sob, her fluids slicking Cesima’s face. Cesima bucked against Diana’s mouth, her own climax rippling through her. Diana pulled back, panting, her lips and chin wet, watching the devastation.
Rhomir held Elena C. against him as they both shuddered through the aftershocks. Slowly, he loosened his grip. She slid off him, unsteady, her green eyes wide and emptied of fury, filled with a dazed, conquered awe.
They were a wreckage of limbs and spent bodies in and around the glowing pool. The air was salt and sex and chlorine.
The soft chime was almost gentle.
“Remarkable,” the host’s voice murmured, a hint of genuine surprise in its smooth cadence. “A masterclass in systemic optimization. One asset utilized to synchronize and maximize the output of four disparate components. A brutal, efficient engineering of pleasure. Points are awarded for exemplary teamwork, resource integration, and the strategic conversion of adversarial energy into collaborative result.”
A pause. The Beavers held their breath.
“One hundred and seventy-five points to the Glorious Beavers.”
The number hung, larger than Arman’s, larger than Mihnea’s. It wasn’t for a Parrot fucking Salamanders, or a Salamander using Parrots. It was for a Jaguar who had, for one brutal, explicit session, made himself the engine of a Beaver victory.
Elena C. looked at Rhomir, then at her teammates—used, bonded, victorious. They had won. By being tools. The complexity of it was the most fascinating fight she’d ever lost. And won.
The board was shattered. The game was now pure anarchy.
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The game was now pure anarchy.
Rhomir’s shadow lingered in the chlorine-scented air long after he’d left the four Beavers trembling by the pool. His engineered victory was a silent accusation. It underscored a brutal truth: in this villa, the most potent currency was decisive, directive lust. Briv found Kofi on the upper balcony, a joint smoldering between his fingers, his gaze fixed on the spot below where Rhomir had conducted his symphony of use.
“He out-fucked you,” Briv said, leaning on the railing. He stated it as fact, not taunt. “Not in size. In strategy. He turned our women into points for us. That’s a mind-fuck.”
Kofi took a long drag, the ember flaring in the dark. His chill was a practiced facade; beneath it, a competitive arrogance vibrated like a plucked string. “He used what was available. Treated them like spare parts in an engine.” He exhaled a stream of smoke. “We have better parts. And we don’t need a Jaguar to tune them.”
Briv’s dark eyes were sharp, calculating. “We need a statement. Not just using our own. Owning them. Completely. The way he did, but… messier. More personal.” He paused, letting the implication hang. “Emilia. Daria. Madalina.”
Kofi’s lips curved. He knew the roster. Emilia, the deceptive manipulator with her small breasts and razor mind. Daria, the sporty domme with the extraordinarily big, round ass. Madalina, the sensual model chasing fun. All Brilliant Jaguars. All now, technically, on his and Briv’s Beaver team after the swaps. They were assets in disarray, ripe for reassignment.
“They’re ours already,” Kofi said, his voice a low rumble.
“On paper,” Briv countered. “Rhomir just proved paper means shit. We need to ink it on their skin. In their heads. We take them. Together. At once. We don’t just fuck them. We rebuild the team inside them.”
The plan was audacious. It required coordination, a surrender of ego between two alpha men. Kofi crushed the joint under his heel. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face. “You got the charm to get them in the room. I got the tool to make them forget their names.”
They found the three women in the villa’s Mediterranean-style lounge, a cavernous room of cream sofas and terracotta tiles. The air was thick with their unsettled energy. Emilia sat poised, but her usual deceptive calm was brittle; Rhomir’s display had shown a level of control beyond her manipulations. Daria stood at the arched window, her impressive silhouette tense, as if itching for a workout to burn off the competitive frustration. Madalina scrolled through her phone with a blank intensity, seeking validation that wasn’t there.
Briv entered first, his charisma dialed to a warm, inviting frequency. “Ladies. You look like you’re planning a coup no one showed up for.”
Emilia’s eyes lifted, instantly assessing. “We’re evaluating operational setbacks. Your team’s points came from a hostile contractor.”
“Our points,” Briv corrected gently, moving to the center of the room. “You’re Beavers now. That win is your win. Doesn’t feel like it, though, does it? Feels borrowed. Second-hand.”
Daria turned from the window, her dark eyes challenging. “What’s your point, Briv? We’re not here for a pep talk.”
“My point is ownership.” Briv’s tone shifted, the friendly mask thinning to reveal steel beneath. “Kofi and I are the core of this team. You three are the new premium recruits. But we haven’t… integrated.” He began unbuttoning his shirt. “That ends now.”
As he spoke, Kofi entered from the other doorway, a silent, imposing barrier. He didn’t speak. He simply leaned against the frame, his muscular arms crossed, his gaze a physical weight. The message was clear: there were no exits.
Madalina put her phone down, her model’s senses recognizing a photo shoot of a different kind. “Integrate how, exactly?”
Briv shrugged off his shirt, revealing his athletic, skinny frame. His 20cm cock was already thickening behind his shorts. “You saw how Rhomir did it. One man, four women. Efficient. Effective.” He nodded toward Kofi. “We’re not him. We’re better. Two men. Three women. We don’t use you in sequence. We take you simultaneously. We fill every hole until you don’t remember what team you were on before tonight.”
Emilia’s mind raced, calculating odds, advantages. To refuse was to remain an outsider. To comply was to be physically conquered, but potentially brought into the power structure. Her eyes flicked to Kofi, to the formidable bulge in his pants. The raw power there was a fact her intelligence couldn’t argue with.
Daria, the would-be dominatrix, felt a thrill at the scale of the challenge. To be dominated by not one, but two confident men? It was the ultimate test of her own strength. “You think you can handle all three of us like that?” she sneered, but it was an invitation.
Kofi finally spoke. His voice was deep, calm, utterly assured. “Baby, my dick alone is a three-act play. Briv’s the opening act. I’m the grand finale. Now, clothes off. All of you. Get on the big couch. Emilia, in the middle.”
The directness brooked no debate. It was not a request, but a statement of impending reality. A shiver, part fear and part electric anticipation, passed through them. They glanced at each other—a fleeting, silent council—and then began to undress. Fabric whispered to the floor, revealing Emilia’s smart, deceptive curves, Daria’s jaw-dropping, workout-sculpted ass, and Madalina’s sensual, party-ready body.
They arranged themselves on the wide, cream sectional as instructed. Emilia lay on her back in the center, her dark eyes watching everything. Daria knelt over her head, facing Emilia’s feet, her massive round ass hovering near Emilia’s face. Madalina positioned herself on all fours beside them, presenting her fit, big round ass toward Kofi.
Briv and Kofi shed the rest of their clothes. The contrast was stark: Briv, lean and armed with a substantial, hard cock; Kofi, a monument of muscle and ink, his legendary 30cm, thick-as-a-wrist dick already fully erect, a breathtaking sight that made Madalina gasp aloud.
“Emilia,” Briv said, kneeling between her legs. “You’re the strategist. You understand supply lines. I’m supplying this pussy.” He didn’t tease. He lined up and pushed into her in one smooth, deep stroke. She was tight, clever, and wet. She gasped, her manipulator’s composure shattered by the blunt invasion.
“Daria,” Kofi commanded, his voice like gravel. “You like to dominate? Dominate her mouth. Sit on her face. She needs to learn her place is to service her teammates.”
Daria, with a competitive grunt, lowered herself until Emilia’s mouth was sealed against her pussy. Emilia’s eyes widened, then fluttered shut as she began to lick and suck, her intellect completely overridden by base instinct.
“Good girl,” Briv moaned, thrusting into Emilia’s gripping heat. “Use that smart mouth for something useful.”
Kofi moved behind Madalina. He spat into his palm, slicking his monstrous length. “You’re a model, Madalina. You know about angles. This,” he said, pressing the fat, leaking head against her tight entrance, “is your new centerfold.” He pushed.
Madalina screamed. It was a sound of pure, stretched-to-the-limit penetration. Her back arched violently as he buried inch after unbelievable inch inside her. She was full in a way she didn’t know was possible, her senses swamped by the thickness splitting her open.
“Fuck! Kofi! Oh my GOD!” she wailed, her hands clutching at the cushions.
“You’re just the warm-up,” Kofi growled, setting a deep, slow, devastating rhythm that made her whole body shake with each thrust.
Briv, fucking Emilia with focused intensity, looked over at the spectacle. “Switch!” he yelled, his own control fraying. “My turn. Madalina, on your back. Daria, come here.”
They disentangled, moving with a clumsy, desperate urgency. Madalina rolled onto her back, legs spread wide, still pulsing around the ghost of Kofi’s girth. Briv positioned himself at her entrance. As he slid into her well-stretched heat, Kofi guided Daria.
“You want that legendary ass complimented?” Kofi muttered, his hands on Daria’s hips. “Let’s see how it takes a real challenge.” He directed her to lower herself onto Briv’s cock, which was buried in Madalina. Daria, using her athlete’s balance, straddled them both, sinking down until she was impaled on Briv, her back to his chest, her incredible ass pressed against him.
They were a stacked, gasping tower of flesh: Madalina beneath, Briv inside her and inside Daria above him. The sensation of being sandwiched, of filling one woman while being filled by another, made Briv see stars. “Holy shit… you feel that? Both of you… fucking incredible…”
“Now,” Kofi said, his voice thick with lust. He knelt behind Daria, his giant cock glistening. He pressed the head against her other, tight entrance. “Time for the main event.”
Daria’s eyes flew open. “Wait, you can’t—it’s too—AHHHHH!” Her protest dissolved into a ragged shriek as Kofi applied relentless pressure and began to enter her. The stretch was extreme, monumental. She was being double-teamed in the most literal sense, filled beyond capacity by both her male teammates.
Kofi bottomed out, his pelvis flush against Daria’s spectacular ass. He was now sheathed inside her, while she was sheathed around Briv, who was buried in Madalina. The mechanical, profound fullness was absolute. A choked, sobbing moan was torn from Daria’s throat.
“This… this is ownership,” Kofi grunted, beginning to move. His thrusts pushed Daria down onto Briv, who in turn drove deeper into Madalina. The motion created a cascading wave of pleasure and penetration through all three linked bodies.
“Talk to me, you arrogant fuck!” Briv gasped up at Daria, whose head lolled back on his shoulder. “Who owns this ass now? Who owns this pussy?”
“You do! You both do!” Daria screamed, her dominance utterly shattered, replaced by a awe-struck submission. “Fuck! I’ve never… it’s so deep… don’t stop!”
Madalina bucked beneath them, her fingers digging into Briv’s arms. “More! God, I can feel you both moving inside her… it’s making me come!”
The symphony of slapping skin, guttural curses, and sobbing pleas filled the lounge. Briv and Kofi found a rhythm, a brutal, complementary cadence. Kofi would surge forward, burying himself in Daria’s ass, forcing Briv deeper into Madalina. Briv would thrust upward, heightening the pressure for Daria and Madalina both.
“Emilia!” Kofi barked. “Don’t just watch. Get over here. Your mouth on my balls. Now.”
Emilia, soaked and trembling from her own servicing of Daria, crawled on shaky limbs. She positioned herself beneath the tangle of bodies and took Kofi’s heavy sac into her mouth, licking and suckling as he powered into her teammate.
The final circuit was closed. They were one organism, a single gasping entity of interlocked need. The dirty talk devolved into primal, fragmented chants.
“Gonna come…”
“Fill her up…”
“BREAK ME!”
“Take it, take all of it!”
Briv came first, his 20cm cock pulsing violently inside Madalina as Kofi’s thrusts through Daria massaged him to climax. His hot release triggered Madalina’s own, her back arching off the couch as she clenched around him.
The convulsions of the bodies beneath and around him pushed Kofi over the edge. With a roar that seemed to shake the room, he emptied himself deep into Daria’s ass, his enormous cock jerking as he pumped his load into her. The sensation of that hot flood, combined with Briv’s simultaneous orgasm inside Madalina, set off Daria’s own explosive climax, a silent, open-mouthed scream shaking her powerful frame.
They collapsed in a heavy, sweat-slicked, spent heap of limbs. The air reeked of sex, salt, and conquest. For long minutes, the only sounds were ragged breathing and the soft, wet sounds of separation.
Then, the chime.
The host’s voice, when it came, held a note of something like reverence. “A foundational realignment. Not mere use, but fusion. A literal and physical re-engineering of team architecture through unparalleled collaborative possession. Points are awarded for flawless tandem execution, structural integration, and the complete, bodily dissolution of former tribal allegiances.”
The pause was heavier than ever.
“Two hundred points to the Glorious Beavers.”
The number landed with finality. It dwarfed all previous scores. Briv, buried under the weight of Daria and connected to Kofi through her, met his teammate’s eyes over her shuddering shoulder. They had done more than win points. They had forged a new, undeniable core. The anarchy had found its first, brutal order.