Chapter 78: Trial 15 - Parrots VS Jaguars
The night was a living thing, breathing through the compound, its exhalations tainted with salt, sweat, and secrets. The chaos had a pattern now, a rhythm the participants were beginning to sense in their bones. It flowed from the kitchen to the pool, from the locked Jaguar bedroom to the cold hallway where Mihnea now shivered, scrabbling for discarded clothes with shaking hands. His humiliation was a fresh scent on the air, and somewhere, someone else was inhaling it, feeling bolder for it.
In the Parrots’ villa, the mood was tense, electric with unspent reaction.
“Did you hear?” Valentina hissed, her voice a stage whisper in the large, shared bedroom. She stood in just a lace bra and panties, her medium-sized breasts heaving with dramatic indignation. “From Nicola? About Loredana and Andra? They woke up covered in… in stuff. At the pool. Someone used them.”
Andreea, ever the sensualist, shivered, not entirely from disgust. She was halfway into a silk slip, the fabric catching on her big round breasts. “Who would do that?” she murmured, but her dark eyes were wide, curious.
Elena Chiriac slammed a drawer shut. Her doll-like face was set in a scowl, her green eyes sharp enough to cut. “Someone with no honor. A coward. If I find out who, I’ll break his fucking knees.” She was stripping off her day clothes, her medium breasts and fit, round big ass a stark contrast to the violence in her tone.
Dariana said nothing. The former dancer moved with a feline quietude, peeling off her leggings. Her tanned skin gleamed in the lamplight, her narrow waist and fit big round ass a testament to disciplined grace. She was precious, selective. The gossip felt crude, but the underlying threat—the violation of safety—coiled in her gut like a cold spring. Her dark eyes flicked to the door.
As if summoned by their vulnerability, it opened.
Rhomir stood in the doorway.
He was immense, not just in height but in presence. 183 cm of solid muscle packed into a black t-shirt and jeans. His messy blonde hair and short beard were haloed by the hall light behind him, his blue eyes scanning the room with detached, amused authority. He took in the scene: four attractive women in various states of undress, caught in a private moment of fear and gossip.
He stepped in and closed the door.
The soft click of the lock engaging was the loudest sound in the sudden silence.
“What are you doing here?” Elena C. snapped, her hands balling into fists at her sides. Her karate training tensed her posture. “Get out. This is our villa.”
Rhomir ignored her. He leaned back against the locked door, his gaze a physical weight. He looked at each of them slowly, from Valentina’s scandalized face to Andreea’s nervously parted lips, from Elena’s defiant glare to Dariana’s watchful stillness. A dry, humourless smile touched his lips.
“Seems you’ve heard the news,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “About things that happen in the dark. To sleeping girls.”
“What do you want?” Dariana asked, her voice quieter than the others, but clear.
“I want you to understand the new rules,” Rhomir said. He pushed off the door. His movements were deliberate, imposing. He reached for the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head in one smooth motion. His torso was a landscape of defined muscle, dusted with blonde hair. His hands went to his belt buckle.
“What are you doing?” Valentina squeaked, taking a step back, her annoyance morphing into genuine fear.
“Getting comfortable,” Rhomir said, his eyes locked on hers as he undid his jeans. He shoved them and his boxers down his powerful thighs, kicking them aside. He stood before them, fully naked, unabashed. He was thickly built everywhere; his 20 cm dick, already semi-erect, was a heavy promise of girth. He let them look, let the reality of his naked dominance sink in.
Confusion swamped the room. It was too sudden, too brazen. This wasn’t flirtation or seduction. This was a territorial claim. Elena C. looked ready to launch herself at him, but the sheer, calm absurdity of his nudity froze her. Andreea’s breath hitched, her sensual nature warring with alarm. Valentina just stared, her gossip-mongering mind short-circuiting. Dariana’s feline eyes dilated, assessing escape routes that no longer existed.
“Now you,” Rhomir commanded, his tone brooking no argument. It was flat, bossy, absolute. “Everything. Off.”
“Fuck you,” Elena C. spat, but her voice wavered.
Rhomir took a single step forward. He didn’t raise his hand. He just let his size and naked intent fill the space. “I didn’t ask. I told you. This is what happens now. You can be awake for it, or you can end up like the Beavers at the pool. Your choice.”
The reference to Loredana and Andra did the work. The confusion in their eyes melted, replaced by a dawning, horrible understanding. This was the game. Not the chains. This. The dark things between the challenges. Submission or violation.
A tear spilled down Valentina’s cheek, but her hands moved. She unclasped her bra, let it fall. She hooked her thumbs into her panties and pushed them down her legs. She stood there, naked, shoulders hunched, her fit round ass and medium breasts exposed.
Andreea followed, a strange serenity falling over her. She let the silk slip slither down her body, then removed her bra and panties. She stood straighter, her big round breasts and big round ass offered not as invitation, but as surrender.
Elena Chiriac, the fighter, trembled with rage. Her green eyes burned into Rhomir’s icy blues. Seconds ticked by. Then, with a strangled sound of utter defeat, she turned and stripped, her movements jerky. She faced him again, her doll-like face pale, her body rigid.
All eyes fell on Dariana. The precious dancer, the selective one. Her dark eyes held Rhomir’s. She saw no give there, only a mysterious, imposing will. Slowly, with the grace of her profession, she reached behind her back, unclasped her bra. She slid her panties down her legs, stepped out of them. She stood naked, her small breasts, narrow waist, and fit big round ass a masterpiece of anatomy laid bare. She didn’t hunch. She just… waited.
“Good,” Rhomir said, a chill satisfaction in his voice. His cock, now fully hard, thickened and rose against his stomach. “On your knees. All four of you. In a line.”
They obeyed. The rustle of skin on carpet, the soft thumps of knees meeting the floor. Valentina first, then Andreea, then Elena C., then Dariana. They knelt before him, a line of submission, their faces a portrait of confused shame.
Rhomir walked down the line. He stopped in front of Valentina first. He tapped his thick cock against her lips. “Open.”
Crying softly, she opened her mouth. He pushed the broad head inside. “Suck it. Like you mean it. You love talk, so use your mouth.”
She bobbed her head, her technique messy, desperate. He let her work for a minute, his hand fisted in her long brown hair, controlling the pace. Then he pulled out, a string of saliva bridging her lip to his shaft.
He moved to Andreea. Without a word, he guided his dick into her mouth. She took him deeper, her sensual nature translating into skilled, hollowed cheeks. She looked up at him, her dark eyes wide. “You’re so big,” she mumbled around him, the words a hot vibration.
“I know,” he said, and thrust deeper, hitting the back of her throat. She gagged, tears springing to her eyes, but didn’t pull away.
He saved Elena C. for third. He forced his cock past her lips. She resisted for a second, her jaw locked. He applied pressure. “Open, you violent little cunt, or I’ll fuck that tight ass of yours until you scream.”
The crude threat broke her. Her mouth opened. He shoved in. “You want to win? Win this. Be the best fucking cocksucker here.”
A perverse fire lit in her eyes. She began to suck with aggressive fury, her tongue swirling, her hands coming up to grip his thighs. She was competitive, even in this.
Finally, he stood before Dariana. She looked up, her expression unreadable. He placed his hand on her head. “You’re the dancer. Flexible. I want to see that grace. Take it all.”
Dariana leaned forward. She didn’t just open her mouth; she relaxed her throat. With a slow, deliberate motion, she took the entire thick length of him, her nose pressing into his blond pubic hair. She held it, her eyes watering, then slid back, her lips sealed tight around the base. It was an act of stunning, submissive skill.
Rhomir grunted, a sound of pure pleasure. “Fuck. Yes.”
But this was just the prelude. He pulled out of Dariana’s mouth. “On the bed. Valentina, on your back. Andreea, on top of her, face to face. I want to see those tits pressed together.”
They scrambled to comply, their confusion now a driving force to obey, to simply get through his orders. Valentina lay back, her body trembling. Andreea climbed atop her, their big breasts pressing together, nipples hardening against each other. Their faces were inches apart, breaths mingling.
Rhomir mounted the bed, kneeling between Andreea’s spread legs. He spat into his hand, slicked his cock, and without ceremony, drove into Andreea from behind. The force pushed her down onto Valentina. Both women cried out as he filled Andreea, his thick length stretching her. He fucked her with deep, pounding strokes, his balls slapping against her, the view of her big round ass jiggling with each thrust obscene and mesmerizing. Beneath her, Valentina was crushed, her face smothered in Andreea’s neck, her own pussy exposed and wet from fear and proximity.
“Say it,” Rhomir grunted, slamming into Andreea.
“Oh God, you’re so deep!” Andreea moaned.
“Louder. Dirtier.”
“Fuck! Your huge cock is splitting me open! I’m your slut!” she screamed, the words filthy and alien on her stylish tongue.
He pulled out, dripping. “Switch.”
They disentangled, moving like dreamers. Now Valentina was on top, Andreea beneath. Rhomir entered Valentina, her tighter channel a slick, clenching heat. He fucked her hard, her talkative mouth now gasping nonsense. “Please! Oh please, it’s too much!” she wailed.
“Call me your king,” he demanded, his pace relentless.
“My king! You’re my fucking king!” she sobbed, her body bouncing violently.
He finished with her, leaving her quivering on top of Andreea. He turned his blue eyes to the edge of the bed where Elena C. and Dariana watched, their hands unconsciously between their own legs.
“You two. Against the wall. Elena, bend over. Dariana, on your knees in front of her.”
They moved. Elena C. bent over, presenting her fit round big ass, her face to the wall. Dariana knelt before her, her face level with Elena’s pussy.
Rhomir approached Elena first. He plunged into her with a single, brutal thrust. She screamed, her fists pounding the wall. “You like that, you tough bitch?” he growled, pounding her.
“Yes! Fuck yes, I love it, you arrogant bastard!” she yelled back, her competitive spirit devolving into raw, screaming submission.
As he fucked Elena from behind, he looked at Dariana. “Eat her. Make her cum on your face while I fuck her.”
Dariana, the precious one, hesitated for only a second. Then she leaned forward, her dancer’s grace in the movement, and buried her face between Elena’s legs. Her tongue flicked out, lapping at the other woman’s clit. Elena’s screams turned into high-pitched shrieks of overload. “Oh fuck, fuck, I’m gonna—!”
Rhomir felt her convulse around his cock. He pulled out, glistening, and turned to Dariana. He pulled her up by her hair, turned her to face the wall, and lifted one of her legs high, exploiting her flexibility. He entered her in this contorted, vulnerable position. She was incredibly tight, a silken, muscular vise. He fucked her hard and deep, her muffled cries music to his ears.
“Who owns this perfect little dancer’s cunt?” he snarled in her ear.
“You do! You own it!” she gasped, her world reduced to the punishing thickness filling her.
“Say my name.”
“Rhomir! Rhomir owns my cunt!”
He fucked her until he was close, then withdrew. He ordered them all to the center of the room, on their knees again, a circle of spent, glistening bodies. He stood before them, stroking his slick, thick cock.
“Mouths open. Tongues out.”
They complied, a chorus of ragged breath and silent tears.
He came with a guttural roar. Hot, white cum erupted in thick pulses. He aimed, painting their faces. Jets striped Valentina’s cheeks and chin. Another splash coated Andreea’s outstretched tongue and breasts. A third rope splattered across Elena C.’s doll-like face and neck. The final drops landed on Dariana’s closed eyelids and parted lips.
They knelt there, stained and ruined, breathing in the scent of sex and salt.
Rhomir stepped back. He looked at them, his expression unreadable, that mysterious, dry humor in his blue eyes. He picked up his clothes, not bothering to dress.
He walked to the door, unlocked it.
He paused on the threshold, glancing back at the four naked, cum-smeared women kneeling in a daze.
“Good sluts,” he said, his voice flat and final.
Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving them in the silent, humid wreckage of their own submission. The night outside was quiet, but the game’s current, now charged with a new, terrifying voltage, thrummed on through the walls.
=====
The night outside was quiet, but the game’s current, now charged with a new, terrifying voltage, thrummed on through the walls. Inside the Parrots’ villa, the air was thick with the smell of sex, sweat, and salt. Four women remained on the floor, not moving, the drying proof of Rhomir’s passage cooling on their skin.
A sound finally broke the paralysis—a sharp, shuddering inhale from Valentina. She wiped a hand across her face, smearing the mess, her features twisting into something ugly. “I feel sick,” she whispered, and scrambled on unsteady legs toward the bathroom. The door slammed, followed by the sound of retching.
Andreea simply lay back on the carpet, staring at the ceiling. Her big breasts rose and fell slowly. A strange, vacant smile touched her lips. Her fingers trailed through the sticky dampness on her stomach.
Elena Chiriac was the first to move with purpose. She stood, her body trembling not with fear but with pure, incandescent rage. She didn’t wipe the cum from her face. She wore it like warpaint. Her green eyes, usually sharp with manipulation, were black pits. “I will end him,” she said, her voice low and guttural. “I don’t care how. I will break him.”
Dariana rose with her feline grace, but it was brittle now. She walked to a basin, wet a cloth, and began methodically cleaning herself. Her dark eyes, reflected in the mirror, were hollow. The precious, selective part of her had been sealed away in some internal vault. What looked back was calculating, cold. She had been measured and found controllable. The equation had changed.
“How?” Dariana asked, her voice flat. “He walked in and owned the room. We let him.”
“We didn’t let him!” Elena snarled, spinning to face her.
“We’re naked. He’s gone. What would you call it?” Dariana’s question hung in the foul air. The silence that followed was an admission.
The sound of the front villa door opening and closing made them all freeze. Footsteps, confident and heavy, echoed in the common area. It wasn’t Rhomir returning. The cadence was different. A shadow filled their still-open bedroom doorway.
Kofi stood there, leaning against the frame. He was shirtless, his ebony skin shimmering in the low light, his dreadlocks tied back. His athletic, lean frame was a silhouette of contained power. He took in the scene: the disheveled room, the three naked, stained women, the atmosphere of violation and shock. His dark eyes showed no surprise, only a chill appraisal.
“Heard there was a party,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Seems I missed the main event.”
“Get out, Kofi,” Elena C. spat, but the fight had gone out of her threat.
He ignored her, his gaze drifting over their bodies with an arrogant ownership that felt different than Rhomir’s—more familiar, more casually cruel. He was a fuck boy assessing used goods. His eyes lingered on the drying streaks on their skin. “Rhomir work?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
Before anyone could reply, another figure appeared behind him in the hall.
Andra moved past Kofi into the room. She was naked except for a sheer robe hanging open. Her dark green eyes were clear, focused, her famous femme fatale aura radiating not seduction but a stark, brutal intent. Her big round breasts and fit big round ass were on full display, but this wasn’t an invitation. It was a statement. The title of Trial 15’s MVP, earned in some unseen daytime challenge, seemed to hang around her neck like a medal. She looked at the state of her fellow Parrots, and her lips curled, not in sympathy, but in recognition.
She turned her back on them completely, facing Kofi.
“I don’t want gentle,” Andra said, her voice stripped of its usual precious class, leaving something raw and metallic. “I don’t want sweet. After what I woke up to at the pool? I need to feel something real. I want you to fuck me. Hard. Right now. Until I can’t remember my own name.”
Kofi’s arrogant smile finally appeared, a flash of white in the dim room. He loved the bad guy role. This was a script he knew by heart. “Demanding, MVP.”
“Can you do it or not?”
In answer, he closed the distance in two strides. He didn’t kiss her. He gripped her hips, his strong fingers digging into her flesh, and lifted her naked body straight off the ground as if she weighed nothing. Andra gasped, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He carried her to the nearest wall, pinning her against it.
He didn’t bother fumbling with clothes. He was already hard, his long, thick 30 cm dick springing free from his shorts. He was monstrously endowed, a fact he wore with casual arrogance. He positioned the bulbous, dark head at her entrance. He looked into her eyes, a challenge.
“You asked for it,” he said, and slammed her down onto him while driving upwards.
The sound Andra made was a punched-out, ragged scream. Her head snapped back against the wall. He was stretching her impossibly wide, a brutal, filling invasion. “FUCK!” she shrieked, her nails clawing at his shoulders.
“That’s the idea,” Kofi grunted, and began to move. He fucked her right there against the wall, using his full strength to lift and drop her onto his shaft, each downward plunge a visceral, wet impact. Her big breasts shook violently with the force. The obscene, slapping rhythm of their bodies filled the room, drowning out the distant sound of Valentina’s crying.
Andra’s face was a mask of agonized pleasure. Tears streamed from her eyes, but she was grinning, a wild, broken thing. “Yes! Just like that! Rip me apart, you bastard!”
Over Kofi’s shoulder, she locked eyes with Daria and Elena Chiriac, who stood frozen, watching from the center of the room. Andra’s gaze was fierce, commanding. “What are you waiting for?” she yelled, her voice cracking on a particularly deep thrust. “You just let some Jaguar walk all over you! Get in here and take something back!”
The challenge was a spark on dry tinder. Daria, the sporty competitor, her own humiliation at being used and dismissed by Mihnea still fresh, let out a sharp breath. Her need to dominate surged, redirecting itself. “Fuck it,” she muttered.
She tore off her own clothes, her very big and round ass a muscular declaration. She moved behind Kofi, pressing her naked body against his back, her hands roaming over his shoulders, her mouth on his neck.
Elena Chiriac watched, Rhomir’s cum still on her face. The rage in her needed a direction, an outlet. Andra’s savage joy was a beacon. With a snarl, she stalked forward, stripping as she went. She dropped to her knees before the writhing couple, her green eyes fixed on where Kofi’s enormous cock pistoned in and out of Andra’s dripping pussy.
“You want to help, you aggressive bitch?” Kofi panted, looking down at her. “Make her wetter.”
Elena didn’t hesitate. She leaned in and swiped her tongue along the length of his shaft, tasting both him and Andra. Then she focused on Andra’s clit, sucking and lashing it with a furious intensity. Andra’s screams pitched higher.
“Switch,” Kofi ordered, his voice gravel.
He pulled out of Andra, letting her slide down the wall, legs wobbling. He turned, his dick glistening and immense. He pointed at Daria. “You. Bend over that desk.”
Daria complied instantly, bending over, presenting her impressive ass. Kofi spat into his hand, slicked himself, and drove into her. Daria cried out, a guttural sound of shock and intense pleasure. She was incredibly tight, muscular from her glutes workouts. “Oh my God, it’s so fucking big!” she groaned, her competitive spirit focused entirely on taking him.
“You like that, you dominant whore?” Kofi grunted, setting a brutal pace, his hips hammering against her flesh.
“I love it! Give me every fucking inch!” Daria shouted, pushing back against him.
Andra, recovering, crawled on her knees to where Elena was still crouched. She grabbed a handful of Elena’s long brown hair. “You want to be useful? Suck his balls while he wrecks her,” Andra commanded, her MVP authority absolute.
Elena, compelled, moved under Daria, taking Kofi’s heavy sac into her mouth, licking and sucking as he plowed the woman above her.
Kofi fucked Daria until her shouts became incoherent, then he pulled out. He looked at Elena. “Your turn. On your back. I want to see that doll face while I ruin you.”
Elena lay back on the carpet. Kofi mounted her, not bothering with gentleness. He shoved her legs apart and impaled her. Her cry was one of pure, cathartic fury. He leaned down, his face close to hers. “You wanted to break someone? Try and break me.”
He pounded into her, his length bottoming out inside her with each thrust. Elena wrapped her legs around him, meeting his violence with her own. “Is that all you’ve got?” she sneered, though her voice trembled.
“Fucking liar,” Kofi laughed, and increased his pace, the sound of their collision becoming wetter, harder. He reached down, thumb pressing hard on her clit. “Cum for me, you psycho cunt. Show me how much you hate it.”
A wrenching, screaming orgasm tore through Elena. Her body convulsed, her back arching off the floor. Kofi rode it out, then pulled his slick cock from her trembling body.
He stood, looking at the three prone, gasping women. Andra was watching him, her eyes dark with need. He pointed at her. “You started this. You finish it. On your knees.”
Andra crawled to him. She took his massive, spit-and-juice-slickened dick into her mouth, trying to deepthroat its impossible length. She gagged, tears flowing, but didn’t stop.
Kofi fisted his hands in her long brown hair, controlling her. He looked at Daria and Elena. “Get over here. Don’t just lie there.”
They shuffled over on their knees, flanking Andra. Daria leaned in, licking the base of his shaft, sucking his balls. Elena, her competitive fire burning again, pressed her mouth against Andra’s cheek, kissing her messily, then licking along the side of Kofi’s pounding cock.
The visual was one of absolute debasement, a raw reclaiming of agency through utter filth. Kofi’s breath grew ragged. “You’re all such hungry little sluts,” he groaned. “MVP? You’re just the best fucking cocksucker.”
He held Andra’s head still and thrust into her throat one final time, his body going rigid. A long, deep groan ripped from his chest as he came. Thick, hot pulses of cum shot directly down Andra’s throat. She swallowed convulsively, her body shaking.
He pulled out, dripping, and aimed the last spurts across Daria’s and Elena’s upturned faces, marking them again, but this time by their own choice.
He stepped back, tucking his spent dick away. He looked down at the three women, a panting, cum-streaked tangle on the floor. The chill arrogance was back, untouched.
“Better,” he said simply.
He turned and left the room, leaving the door wide open. The cool night air drifted in, mixing with the thick, spent heat. Andra collapsed onto her side, coughing, a strange, triumphant light in her dark green eyes. Daria wiped cum from her eyelashes, a satisfied, worn-out smirk on her face. Elena Chiriac lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, her rage finally spent, replaced by a numb, hollow calm.
Down the hall, in the bathroom, Valentina’s soft weeping had stopped. She had heard everything. The message was received, and it was more complex than before. The game wasn’t just about taking. It was about choosing how you were taken, and by whom. And the choices were spiraling, each one dragging them deeper into a pit where the only way out was to become something they no longer recognized.