Chapter 83: Trial 16 - Beavers VS Jaguars
Briv’s new room in the Jaguars’ villa was sparse, sterile. It smelled of lemon cleaner and unresolved tension. He tossed his bag on the bed, the weight of the transfer a physical thing on his shoulders. The calculated welcome from Emilia, the assessing glare from Daria, Antonia’s simmering chaos—it was a new cage with different bars. He needed to think, to plan his position. A soft knock at the glass patio door shattered the silence.
He turned. Three silhouettes were framed against the moonlight. Diana, Loredana, and Andra. A vision from his former life.
He slid the door open. The humid night air rushed in, carrying their expensive perfumes—jasmine, oud, something tropical and sweet. “This is a risk,” he said, his voice low.
“We’re grieving,” Andra murmured, her dark green eyes luminous in the dim light. She stepped in first, a queen entering a rival kingdom. She was still dressed in her robe, but it was open at the chest, revealing the deep swell of her big round breasts. “We just lost our mind. We needed to see you.”
Diana slipped past him, her hand brushing his arm. “It’s not fair, baby. They can’t just take you.” Her voice was a pout, layered with gossipy concern. She wore a tiny silk slip, the outline of her fit round beautiful ass clear against the fabric.
Loredana came last, closing the door quietly behind her. Her black hair was down, cascading over her shoulders. “We wanted to say a proper goodbye,” she said, her tone precious, her gaze fixed on him with a loyalty he knew was as deep as her immediate self-interest. “To comfort you. This must be hard for you, too.”
They encircled him. Their presence was an assault of warmth and femininity, a deliberate, potent distraction.
“It’s a game,” Briv said, but his charismatic armor was cracking under the sheer, focused pressure of their attention.
“It’s a shitty game,” Diana whispered, moving closer, her medium breasts pressing against his chest. She looked up at him, her dark eyes wide. “We were a good team. You and Kofi… and us.” Her hand drifted down his stomach, fingers skimming the waistband of his shorts. “We miss you already.”
Andra moved behind him, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. She began to knead the tight muscles, her touch firm, knowing. “You’re with sharks now, Briv. Emilia will use you until you’re hollow. Daria will try to break you. We know you. We value you.” Her lips were close to his ear. “Let us show you.”
Loredana was in front of him now, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Forget strategy for one night, love,” she breathed. “Just feel.”
Their words were honey, their touches ignition. This was comfort as a weapon, nostalgia as a trap. They were here to reclaim a piece of him, to plant a seed of loyalty—or at least lust—that would split his focus. To destabilize.
It was working.
Briv let out a slow breath, the intellectual resistance melting under a wave of sheer physical want. He was a man, arrogant in his own way, and three of the most attractive women in the camp were offering themselves as a consolation prize. His dick, his 20 centimeters, hardened instantly, straining against his shorts.
“Show me then,” he said, his voice gone rough.
It was permission. The delicate pretense shattered.
Diana kissed him first. Her mouth was hungry, tasting of wine and artifice. Her tongue pushed past his lips, and her hands clutched at his back. Andra’s mouth found the nape of his neck, teeth grazing his skin. Loredana pressed her body flush against his, her above-average-sized breasts soft against his chest, and began unbuttoning his shirt.
They were a whirlwind of practiced hands and seeking mouths. His shirt was peeled off, tossed aside. His shorts and boxers were pushed down in a single, frantic motion by Diana’s eager hands. His cock sprung free, thick and already leaking.
“Fuck, look at you,” Diana purred, dropping to her knees on the cool tile floor. She didn’t hesitate. She took the head into her mouth, her pink lips stretching wide. She swirled her tongue around the corona, her dark hair falling around her face.
Loredana and Andra were undressing each other, a sensual, deliberate show for him. Straps slipped from shoulders. Zippers descended. Silk and lace pooled at their feet until they stood naked, two perfect, wealth-oriented sculptures bathed in moonlight. Andra’s big round breasts and fit big round ass, Loredana’s similar lavish curves—they were a breathtaking display of calculated enticement.
Briv watched, his hands tangled in Diana’s hair, guiding her mouth down his length. She took him deep, gagging slightly, then pulling back with a wet pop. “So good, daddy,” she mumbled, looking up at him with submissive eyes before diving back down.
Andra approached, kissing Briv deeply, her tongue dueling with his. He could taste Diana on his own lips. Loredana knelt beside Diana, her hands stroking his thighs. “Let me, baby,” Loredana cooed, and she began to lick and suck his balls, taking each one gently into her mouth while Diana continued to bob her head on his shaft.
The dual sensation was overwhelming. Heat and wetness and pressure. The obscene, slick sounds filled the quiet room. Briv groaned, his head falling back. He was being worshipped, and every suck, every kiss, was a chain meant to bind him to his old team.
“On the bed,” he ordered, his voice a guttural command.
They obeyed instantly, a trio of eager, naked compliance. They lay back on the crisp sheets, a tangle of long limbs, dark hair, and offered bodies.
Diana spread her legs first, her fingers already sliding through her folds. “I need you, Briv. Please. Fuck me first. I’ve been aching for it.”
Andra turned on her side, kissing his shoulder, her hand wrapping around his cock, pumping him slowly. “Choose, love. But remember who you belong with.”
Briv’s control snapped. The intellectual was gone, replaced by a raw, dominating hunger. He grabbed Diana’s ankles, hoisting her legs into the air. He positioned himself at her entrance, the broad head of his cock nudging against her. She was slick, ready.
“Beg for it,” he demanded.
“Please, daddy! Fuck your little slut. I need your cock in my pussy, now!” Diana whimpered, her facade of classy gossip fully erased by primal need.
He drove into her in one brutal, deep thrust. She cried out, a sharp, genuine sound of penetration. Her tight channel clenched around him. He set a punishing rhythm immediately, pounding into her fit round beautiful ass, the slapping sound of skin on skin echoing. He leaned over, his weight on his arms, and captured Loredana’s mouth in a fierce kiss as he fucked their teammate.
“You feel that?” he growled against Loredana’s lips. “That’s what you’re missing.”
“Yes, love, yes,” Loredana moaned, her hand sneaking between her own legs, rubbing her clit in frantic circles as she watched.
Diana was mewling beneath him, her nails scoring his back. “Harder, baby! Oh god, right there! Don’t stop!”
Briv fucked her with a relentless, piston-like intensity. Sweat beaded on his skin. The room smelled of sex, of their collective musk. He could feel the climax building, a tight coil in his gut, but he wasn’t ready. He pulled out of Diana abruptly, her frustrated cry cutting the air.
“My turn,” Andra said, her femme fatale aura reduced to sheer carnal wanting. She pushed him onto his back and straddled him, sinking down onto his cock with a controlled, deep sigh. She began to ride him, her big round breasts bouncing, her hips rolling in a sinuous, sensual dance. She was in control of the motion, but her eyes were glazed, submissive to the sensation. “This cock… it should still be ours, daddy.”
Briv grabbed her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her fit big round ass, and took over, driving up into her from below. He pistoned into her, the angle deep, hitting her cervix with each thrust. Andra’s head tossed back, her long brown hair flying. “Yes! Fuck, use me! I’m your girl, Briv, I’m your girl!”
Loredana moved, positioning herself over Briv’s face. “Taste me, baby,” she begged, lowering her dripping cunt onto his mouth. He ate her out ferociously, his tongue spearing into her as he continued to pound up into Andra. Loredana ground against his face, screaming into a pillow to muffle her sounds as she came, her body shuddering violently.
Andra’s orgasm followed, a tight, pulsing clamp around his dick that made her scream his name into the crook of his neck.
Briv flipped her off him. He was on the edge, his balls drawn up tight. “All of you. On your knees. Now.”
They scrambled. Diana, Loredana, Andra—they knelt in a row at the edge of the bed, their mouths open, eyes desperate and glistening. They were painted in sweat and their own juices, perfectly submissive, utterly used.
Briv stood before them, stroking his slick, rock-hard cock. The sight of the three beautiful women, former teammates, begging for his cum, was the ultimate ego trip, the precise psychological landmine they had intended to plant.
“Open,” he commanded.
They did. Three perfect, waiting mouths.
He took Loredana’s head in his hands first, guiding his cock between her lips. He fucked her mouth roughly a few times, then pulled out with a wet noise. “Swallow what you get,” he ordered Diana, and he aimed at her. He finally let go, the orgasm roaring up from his core.
“Here it comes, you fucking whores,” he grunted.
The first thick, hot spurt shot directly into Diana’s waiting mouth. She swallowed convulsively, some of it dribbling down her chin. He aimed the next pulse at Andra, painting her tongue white. She took it, her dark green eyes locked on his, swallowing deeply. The final ropes he gave to Loredana, who sucked him clean, milking every last drop with grateful, devoted pulls of her lips and tongue.
He stepped back, spent, dripping onto the floor. The three women remained on their knees, panting, cum glistening on their lips and chins. The room was silent except for their ragged breaths. The mission was accomplished. The seed was planted, both literally and figuratively.
Andra was the first to recover. She rose gracefully, a queen reclaiming her composure even naked and covered in his release. She leaned in, kissed him softly, tasting herself and him. “Remember where your real comfort is, love,” she whispered. “Remember who really wants you.”
They dressed in silence, the flirty, comforting masks back in place, though their bodies bore the marks of the raw, explicit act. With final, lingering touches, they slipped out the patio door, disappearing into the night, leaving Briv alone in the scent of sex and betrayal.
He sank onto the ravaged bed, the memory of their mouths, their bodies, their submissive pleas searing into his brain. He was in the Jaguars’ den. But a part of him, now, was irrevocably left with the Beavers. The destabilization was complete.
=====
The destabilization was complete, but the aftershocks were just beginning. Briv lay in the sour silence, the phantom slickness of their mouths still on his skin. Down the hall, Emilia, Daria, and Antonia convened in the living room, their low, furious whispers bouncing off the sterile walls.
“They were just here,” Daria spat, her sporty body coiled on the sofa. “I smelled their fucking perfume down the hall. They crawled through his patio door like snakes.”
Emilia’s great emotional intelligence was parsing the damage. “They’re sewing doubt into him before the thread of loyalty can even form. It’s smart. Andra is proving why she was dangerous even without Briv.”
Antonia paced, a caged animal. “So we cut it out. We show him where his new loyalties lie. We be better.”
A heavy, unmistakable knock hammered on the villa’s front door. Not a tap. A proclamation.
The three women froze, exchanging a glance. It was too late for casual visits. Daria stood first, her dominance surging to the fore. “If that’s one of them coming back for a fucking encore…”
She yanked the door open. Kofi stood on the threshold, backlit by the patio lights. He leaned against the frame, a picture of arrogant chill, his dreadlocks loose over his shoulders. He wore only low-slung sweatpants, his ebony skin and lean muscles glistening as if he’d just come from a workout. The long, thick outline of his dick was unmistakable against the fabric.
“Get out,” Daria said, the words a flat, cold command.
“This isn’t your beach,” Emilia added, appearing at Daria’s shoulder, her voice a silken threat. “You don’t just walk in here.”
Antonia pushed between them, her energy buzzing with hostility. “Fuck off, Kofi. Seriously.”
Kofi didn’t move. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face, highlighting his short casual beard. “Heard you got a new pet. My condolences.” His dark eyes flicked over each of them, assessing, dismissing. “My girls just left. Diana, Loredana, Andra. You catch their scent? Jasmine and regret.”
He took a single step forward, forcing them to give ground. He was inside now, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The imposing finality of the sound echoed.
“They spent the last hour in Briv’s room,” Kofi said, his tone conversational, as if discussing the weather. “Sucking his dick, riding his cock, begging for his cum. They fucked him stupid. A proper farewell gift.” He let that image hang, foul and vivid, in the air between them. “Seemed unfair. My team gets to break in your new toy, and I get nothing? So I thought I’d collect. A trade.”
“You’re insane,” Daria hissed, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of something else—outrage, and a dark, competitive curiosity.
“Get out,” Emilia repeated, but her command lacked its usual force. She was calculating, her gaze dropping to the massive bulge in his pants despite herself.
Kofi ignored them, walking further into their space as if he owned it. He stopped in front of Antonia, who glared up at him. “You’re the wild one. Theo’s ex. Bet you like a real fuck, not that polite shit.” He reached out, not touching her, but his finger traced a line in the air an inch from her cheek. “Bet you’re still wound tight from watching Rhomir walk out that door.”
Antonia swatted his hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
“Or what?” Kofi murmured, his chill persona evaporating into something hotter, more aggressive. “You’ll throw another glass? I’m not your furniture, baby. I’m the guy who’s going to make you forget your own name for twenty minutes.”
He turned to Daria. “And you. You like to dominate. I can see it in your shoulders. But you’ve never been dominated, not really. Not by something that can actually match you.” His eyes raked over her fit, very big and round ass. “All that glute work. Pretty package. Let’s see if it can take a proper pounding.”
Daria’s face flushed with fury and something like anticipation. “You arrogant piece of—”
“And you,” Kofi said, cutting her off and zeroing in on Emilia. The manipulator. He leaned close, his voice dropping to a intimate rumble. “You’re the puppet master. You use that beauty to make men stupid. But right now, you’re scared. Your strategy is in tatters. Briv is compromised. You need an anchor.” He let his gaze drag slowly down her body, over her small breasts, her narrow waist. “I’m not an anchor. I’m a hurricane. But you can pretend to control the wind for a little while. If you’re good.”
He was speaking directly to their core insecurities, their hidden wants, using the same ruthless seduction he wielded on the beach. It wasn’t romance. It was psychological predation, offering a violent catharsis for their collective frustration.
“This is a pathetic play,” Emilia said, but her breath hitched.
“It’s the only play left tonight,” Kofi countered. He finally touched her, a single finger under her chin, tilting her face up. “Your new teammate is in there, dreaming of my women’s cunts. My team is gutted. The whole game is shit. So let’s have something simple. Let’s have a dirty, honest fuck.”
He moved past her, toward the large, plush rug in the center of the living room. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his sweatpants and pushed them down, kicking them aside. His cock, fully erect, was a monstrous, thick thing, every centimeter of its 30 length pronounced and veined, the dark head already glistening.
The three women stared. The protest died in their throats, replaced by a stunned, visceral awareness.
Kofi stroked himself slowly, his eyes locking on Daria. “You first. You want to fight me the most. So fight this.”
A tremor went through Daria. Her competitive nature, her love of being complimented, her need to dominate—it all twisted into a single, potent decision. She let out a sharp, disdainful laugh. “You think that scares me?” She pulled her tank top over her head, her medium breasts bouncing free. “It’s just meat. I’ve handled bigger.”
“Prove it,” Kofi said.
Daria approached, her sporty walk all defiant swagger. She pushed him, her hands on his chest. He didn’t budge. She looked down at his cock, then back at his face, and dropped to her knees.
“Don’t you dare cum,” she ordered, and took him into her mouth.
She couldn’t take it all. The head bumped the back of her throat, and she gagged, tears springing to her dark eyes. She pulled back, gasping, a string of saliva connecting her lips to him. “Fuck,” she coughed.
“Told you,” Kofi grunted, his hand fisting in her dark blonde hair. He didn’t force her, just held her there. “It’s not for gentle. It’s for splitting you open.”
He guided her mouth back onto him, and she tried again, working the first few inches with her lips and tongue, her hands wrapping around the base she couldn’t hope to engulf. The obscene, wet sounds of her effort filled the room.
Emilia and Antonia watched, transfixed, their own arousal a sharp, uncomfortable heat between their legs. They saw the most dominant woman among them brought to her knees, literally and figuratively, by sheer, physical overwhelm.
Kofi pulled Daria off after a minute. “Enough. I want that ass in the air. Now.”
Daria, dazed and breathing heavily, complied. She got on all fours on the rug, presenting her famously worked, very big and round ass. “You better not disappoint,” she threw over her shoulder, but the bravado was thin.
Kofi positioned himself behind her, one hand gripping the globe of her ass, the other guiding his cock to her entrance. He didn’t tease. He pushed, a slow, inexorable invasion that made Daria cry out, her back arching.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” she moaned, her face pressed into the rug.
He bottomed out inside her, a brutal, complete possession. Then he fucked her. Hard. Each thrust was a full-body slam that jolted her forward. The sound was meaty, profound. Daria’s protests dissolved into gasped curses. “Yes! Fuck! Right there! God, you’re huge!”
She came quickly, screaming into the fabric, her body clenching around him in violent waves.
Kofi pulled out, slick and gleaming. He turned to Antonia, who was watching with her mouth slightly open, her hand unconsciously pressed between her legs.
“You. Come here.”
Antonia, the party animal who acted like a boy, moved with a strange, eager hesitance. He didn’t make her kneel. He kissed her, hard, his tongue invading her mouth, his hands gripping her small breasts through her shirt, then tearing it off. He lifted her, her tanned legs wrapping around his waist, and carried her to the large armchair.
He sat, holding her above his massive erection. “You want it? Take it.”
Antonia lowered herself, impaling herself on him with a sharp cry. She rode him, her fit round ass slapping against his thighs, her creative energy funneled into a frantic, grinding rhythm. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” she chanted, not in anger but in ecstatic surrender.
“That’s it, wild thing,” Kofi groaned, his hands digging into her ass, controlling her bounce. “Ride the damn hurricane.”
She came with a shuddering wail, collapsing against his chest.
He lifted her off, setting her aside like a discarded toy, and stood. His cock, slick from both women, was still brutally hard. He looked at Emilia, the last holdout, the strategist. She hadn’t moved from her spot, but her chest was heaving, her dark eyes wide.
“Your move, puppet master,” he said, walking toward her. “You can walk away. Or you can finally feel something real instead of just manipulating it.”
Emilia’s great emotional intelligence failed her. It calculated only risk and reward, and the reward—obliterating the tension, feeling a power that could dwarf her manipulations—was too potent. She stepped out of her shorts, letting them pool at her feet. She was naked, her classy preciousness discarded.
“Don’t be gentle,” she whispered.
Kofi picked her up and pushed her against the nearest wall, pinning her there. He hoisted her legs around his hips and drove into her in one fierce thrust. The air left her lungs in a shocked gasp. He fucked her against the wall, each slam vibrating through the drywall, his lean, athletic body a piston of pure force.
“Who’s using who now?” he growled in her ear, his breath hot.
“Me,” she moaned, her deception turned into a desperate, shared delusion. “I’m using you. I am.”
“Lie to yourself all you want,” he panted, his pace becoming erratic, brutal. “Just swallow your prize when it comes.”
He neared his climax. With a final, deep grind, he pulled out of Emilia. “All of you. On your knees. Line up.”
Daria, still dripping, shuffled over. Antonia, spent but obedient, joined her. Emilia slid down the wall to complete the trio. They knelt before him, a line of conquered territory, their mouths open, eyes glazed.
Kofi fisted his cock, stroking hard and fast. “Open wider, you Jaguar cunts. This is what winning feels like.”
The first thick, hot jet hit Daria’s tongue. She swallowed, a grimace of pleasure and submission on her face. “You bastard,” she mumbled around the load.
The second spurt painted Antonia’s mouth. She sucked at the head, taking it directly, gulping it down. “Fuck yeah,” she slurred, her energy spent in service.
The final, pulsing ropes he gave to Emilia, aiming for her throat. She took it, her mesmerising beauty utterly debased, swallowing every drop as it shot into her. She kept her dark eyes open, locked on his, accepting the violation as her due.
When he was spent, he stepped back. The three women remained on their knees, panting, their lips and chins smeared with his cum. The room stank of sex, sweat, and a new, brutal hierarchy.
Kofi pulled his sweatpants back on, the casual act somehow more degrading than the fucking. He looked down at them, his arrogant chill fully restored.
“Tell Briv welcome to the team,” he said. “And tell him his old team sends their regards.”
He left, the front door closing softly behind him. The silence he left was heavier, more charged, than any shout. In their separate rooms, two men—Briv, haunted by ghostly perfume, and Kofi, smelling of three different women—understood the same truth: the game was no longer about teams. It was about survival in a jungle where every appetite was now a weapon.