Chapter 88: Trial 17 - Beavers VS Jaguars
The weight of the island’s previous night still hung in the air come morning, a thick humidity of spent lust and shredded pride. Kofi felt it, but it didn’t touch him. He watched from the shaded veranda of the Beavers’ villa, rolling a joint with deliberate, practiced care. His dreadlocks were tied back, his ebony skin absorbing the early sun. He’d heard the whispers—Arman broken on the beach, Mihnea used up by the fire. Amateur hour. They approached sex like a crisis, a proof of something. Kofi knew it for what it was: a natural function, a superior appetite, and his to command.
He found them by the Olympic-sized pool later that afternoon, when the sun was a brutal, clarifying hammer. The three Jaguar women weren’t hiding. They were holding court. Emilia, Daria, and Loredana lay on premium loungers, a tableau of calculated beauty. Emilia’s tanned skin glistened with oil, her small breasts perfectly proportioned. Daria, the sporty one, was doing subtle glute clenches even while prone, her very big and round ass a breathtaking testament to her workouts. Loredana, precious and wealth-oriented, sipped sparkling water through a straw, her above-average-sized breasts straining against a designer bikini top.
Kofi approached, his lean, athletic frame moving with a chill arrogance that was as natural as breathing. He wore only swim trunks, his tattoos on display. He stood at the foot of their loungers, blocking the sun.
“Ladies. Looking like a three-course meal.”
Emilia tilted her head, her dark eyes assessing him with that great emotional intelligence. She smiled, a weapon. “Kofi. Here to provide commentary, or service?”
Daria didn’t even open her eyes. “If he’s here to talk about himself, I’m leaving. I’ve met enough Armans for one lifetime.”
Loredana’s gaze traveled over him, valuing him based on immediate interests. His physique passed. His reputation preceded him. “The famous fuck boy,” she said, not unkindly. “We heard about your… equipment.”
Kofi grinned, all white teeth against dark skin. He lit his joint, took a long pull, and exhaled a plume of fragrant smoke. “Hearing’s one thing. Testing is another.” He let his eyes travel over each of them, a slow, audacious inventory. “But I’m not a charity. You want a taste, you play by my rules. All of you.”
Emilia’s smile didn’t falter. “And what are your rules?”
“Simple,” Kofi said, his voice a low, confident rumble. “I’m going to fuck each of you. One after the other. Right here. You don’t get to direct. You don’t get to pretend you’re in charge. You take what I give you, and you thank me for it. And maybe, if you’re exceptional, I’ll come back for seconds.”
The obscenity of the proposition, delivered with such chill certainty, hung in the hot air. It was the polar opposite of Mihnea’s desperate bargaining or Arman’s crass demands. This was a statement of fact.
Daria finally opened her eyes, a competitive fire igniting in them. She liked to dominate. The challenge was direct. “You think you can handle me? I’d break you.”
“Your mouth says break,” Kofi said, taking another hit. “Your body will say please.”
He pointed the joint at Emilia. “You. You’re the puppeteer. You pull strings. Not today.” He then pointed at Daria. “You’re the dominatrix. Not today.” Finally, he pointed at Loredana. “You’re the calculator. The cost of admission is your control. Pay up.”
He waited. This was the gamble. He was outnumbered, but he wielded the only currency that mattered in this moment: the promise of being the untouchable bad guy they all, in some secret part, wanted to be touched by.
Emilia was the first to move. She uncrossed her legs and sat up. The manipulator recognized a force she couldn’t manipulate, only experience. “Okay, Kofi,” she said, her voice a silken surrender. “Show us.”
That was all the permission he needed. He shed his trunks, casually. His cock, thick and long and already half-hard, swung free. The sheer size of it—a good 30 centimeters—drew a simultaneous, sharp intake of breath from Loredana and Daria. This wasn’t average. This was a weapon.
“Emilia. On your knees. At the edge of the pool.”
She obeyed, moving with a classy grace that couldn’t hide the pulse beating in her throat. She knelt on the hot concrete, her fit round ass toward him. Kofi stepped behind her. He didn’t kiss her, didn’t caress her. He spat into his palm, slicked his enormous cock, and placed the broad, veiny head at her entrance. She was in a thong; he just pushed the fabric aside.
“You use your beauty to mesmerize men,” he murmured, his hands gripping her narrow waist. “Now be mesmerized.”
He pushed in. Not slowly. He drove forward with a single, powerful thrust that buried half his length inside her in an instant. Emilia cried out, a sound of shock and unbearable fullness. Her body clenched around him, impossibly tight, trying to accommodate the invasion. Kofi groaned, a deep, animal sound of pleasure. “Fuck. That’s a good start.”
He began to fuck her in earnest, pulling out almost completely before slamming back into her soaking wet depths. Each thrust was a claim, rocking her whole body forward. The sound was obscenely wet, a filthy squelch that mixed with her gasped moans. He looked over her shoulder at Daria and Loredana, who were watching, frozen. Daria’s mouth was slightly open. Loredana’s hand had crept to her own thigh.
“You see this?” Kofi grunted, pistoning into Emilia. “This is what happens when you stop playing games. You get fucked. Properly.”
Emilia, the master manipulator, was beyond strategy. Her fingers scrabbled on the concrete. “Oh god… Kofi… it’s too much…”
“It’s exactly enough,” he corrected, hammering into her. He felt her orgasm rip through her, her walls fluttering and clamping around him in frantic, helpless waves. He didn’t stop. He fucked her through it, prolonging the sensations until she was sobbing, her carefully constructed composure in tatters at the pool’s edge. Only then did he pull out, his cock glistening and dripping.
One.
He left her collapsed there, dripping onto the concrete. He turned to Daria, the dominatrix. She was already standing, her body taut with competitive anger and undeniable arousal. “You think you can do that to me?” she spat.
“I know I can,” Kofi said, walking toward her. He was breathing heavily, but his arrogance was untouched. “Turn around. Bend over that lounger.”
For a second, she resisted. Then, with a glare that promised later vengeance, she turned and bent over the padded chaise, presenting her fit, very big and round ass—her pride, her weapon. Kofi approached. He didn’t guide himself in. He slapped his thick, wet cock against her cheeks, leaving a trail of Emilia’s juices. “You like to dominate? Today, you take domination. Every fucking inch of it.”
He pressed the head against her tight hole. She was less yielding than Emilia. “Relax,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. He pushed. It was a slower, more brutal conquest. Daria gasped, her muscles locking. “It won’t… fit…”
“It’ll fit,” Kofi growled, applying steady, immense pressure. He felt her give way, millimeter by millimeter, until the thick head popped past her tight ring and he was lodged inside. She screamed, a raw mix of pain and shocking pleasure. He sank deeper, feeling her incredible ass pressed against his pelvis, her channel stretched to an unbelievable degree around his girth.
“Now,” he said, his hands digging into the soft flesh of her hips. “Now you get fucked by a real man.”
He set a punishing, deep rhythm. Each stroke was a full, withdrawing slide followed by a deep, bottoming-out slam that made the lounger scrape on the tiles. Daria, the tough, competitive sportswoman, was reduced to a series of choked, animalistic grunts. “Fuck… yes… you bastard… fucking ruin me…”
He was doing just that. Her bravado was being pounded into dust. She came violently, her body shuddering, her very big and round ass clenching like a fist. He felt her orgasm trigger his own. With a final, deep drive, he buried himself to the hilt and exploded inside her, pumping jet after hot jet of come into her depths. He held himself there, pulsing, as she milked him dry.
Two.
He pulled out, a mixture of their fluids dripping from her onto the lounger. Daria slumped, utterly spent, her dominance a distant memory.
Kofi turned, his cock still semi-hard, gleaming and filthy. He looked at Loredana. The calculator. The last one. She hadn’t moved from her chair, but her legs were pressed tightly together, her dark eyes wide.
“Your turn, precious,” Kofi said, his voice husky from exertion. He walked to her, looming over her. “You value people based on your interests. What’s my value now?”
Loredana’s gaze was fixed on his cock. She licked her lips. “High,” she breathed. “Very high.”
“Then earn your dividend.”
She moved quickly, sliding off the lounger onto her knees on the tiles before him. She didn’t hesitate. She took his spent, slick cock into her mouth. She sucked him clean with a desperate, greedy hunger, her tongue lapping up the combined taste of Emilia and Daria and him. She serviced him with a dedication that was purely transactional, and utterly thrilling. Her above-average-sized breasts heaved as she worked, taking him deep into her throat until she gagged, then pulling back to swirl her tongue around the head.
Kofi watched, his hands tangled in her black long hair. He felt himself hardening again in her talented mouth. Her calculated interest was the purest form of flattery.
When he was fully hard again, he pulled her up. “Not like this,” he said. He sat on the edge of her vacated lounger. “Ride me. Show me what that expensive ass can do.”
Loredana climbed onto him, straddling his lap. She guided him inside her, sinking down with a luxurious, grateful sigh. She was wet, ready, her fit big round ass settling against his thighs. She began to move, not with frantic passion, but with a polished, sensual rhythm. She was giving a performance, but it was a performance for a paying customer of the highest caliber. She rolled her hips, grinding down on him, taking his full length with each rise and fall.
“You’re worth it,” she moaned, her head thrown back, her breasts thrust forward. “You’re so fucking worth it, Kofi.”
He gripped her ass, guiding her pace, helping her impale herself harder, faster. He fucked up into her, meeting her downward strokes. It was a collaborative, mercenary fuck, and it was intensely hot. Her calculated pleasure became real, her cries losing their practiced edge as she climbed toward her peak. She came with a sharp, businesslike cry, her body convulsing around him.
Kofi followed moments later, his second orgasm a deep, full-body shudder as he filled her. He held her close as they both rode it out.
Three.
Silence descended, broken only by their ragged breathing and the gentle lapping of pool water. Emilia was slowly sitting up, wincing. Daria was still face-down on the lounger, motionless. Loredana disentangled herself from Kofi, a satisfied, slightly dazed look on her beautiful face.
Kofi stood up. He found his trunks, pulled them on. He looked at the three women—the manipulator, the dominator, the calculator—all used, all marked by him. He had fucked every single one of them, on his terms.
He picked up his discarded joint from an ashtray, relit it, and took a long, victorious pull. He exhaled.
“Told you,” he said, his chill arrogance pristine, utterly unbroken. He gave them a casual nod and walked away, leaving the three Jaguars in the wreckage of their own loungers, covered in sweat and salt and come, the afternoon sun beating down on a conquest that felt, for the first time that season, absolute.
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He gave them a casual nod and walked away, leaving the three Jaguars in the wreckage of their own loungers, covered in sweat and salt and come, the afternoon sun beating down on a conquest that felt, for the first time that season, absolute.
That scene, the brutal efficiency of it, played on a loop behind Briv’s dark eyes. He’d watched from the shade of a palm grove, his own 20 cm dick twitching in his shorts at the sheer audacity. Kofi had re-written the rules. Sex wasn’t a negotiation here; it was a demonstration of hierarchy. Briv felt the old, familiar itch—the leader’s need to not just participate, but to orchestrate. He couldn’t match Kofi’s animal physicality, but he could leverage something else: history.
He found his former teammates from the Glorious Beavers as the sky bruised into twilight. Diana, Andra, and Antonia were clustered on a low stone wall near the cliff path, sharing a bottle of vodka and orange juice. The air smelled of citrus and the sea far below. They fell silent as he approached, their expressions a mosaic of assessment.
“The prodigal son returns,” Andra drawled, her femme fatale aura a palpable thing in the dimming light. She took a slow sip, her dark green eyes tracking him. “Come to gloat about your new team, Jaguar?”
“Come to see if you miss me,” Briv said, leaning against the wall beside Diana. He flashed his charismatic smile, but it felt tighter than usual. The pressure was a live wire in his chest.
Diana, classy and not very smart, giggled and nudged him with her shoulder. “We miss your jokes, maybe. Not your snoring.” She was flirty, but only with bad or toxic guys, and Briv’s current energy might just qualify.
Antonia, energetic and boyish, snorted. “Fuck that. I miss having someone who could actually mix a decent drink.” She thrust the bottle toward him. “Fix this. It’s shit.”
Briv took it, his fingers brushing hers. This was his in. He wasn’t Kofi. He couldn’t just command. He had to charm, to infiltrate. He took a long swallow, the vodka burning a path of false courage. “I miss the chaos,” he said, handing the bottle back. “It was simpler. Now everything’s a fucking chess game.”
“And you’re a pawn?” Andra asked, her voice a silk-wrapped razor.
“I’m a player,” Briv countered, holding her gaze. “And I’m looking at three players who just watched a Beaver get traded away. Your team’s weaker. You’re exposed.” He let that hang, watching the calculation in Andra’s eyes, the nascent worry in Diana’s, the defensive spark in Antonia’s. “Maybe we can help each other feel… stronger. For old time’s sake.”
Diana leaned closer, her medium breasts pressing against his arm. “How?” Her breath was sweet with vodka.
Briv turned his head, his lips almost touching her ear. “By remembering what it feels like to not think. To just feel. All three of you. With me. Right now.”
The proposition, so stark after the casual nostalgia, sucked the air from the space between them. Antonia choked on her drink. Andra’s perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched. Diana just stared, her mouth a soft ‘o’.
“All three?” Antonia finally spat, wiping her mouth. “Your charismatic ass thinks you’ve got the stamina or the dick for that? After the day we’ve had?” The reference to Kofi’s display was implicit but clear.
Briv stood up straight, the leader in him pushing through. “I’ve got twenty centimeters and a brain that knows what each of you likes. Kofi fucks to prove a point. I fuck to remind you who you are.” He looked at each of them. “Diana, you want to feel coveted. Andra, you want to feel in control, even when you’re not. Antonia, you just want to feel good, no bullshit.” He shrugged, a deliberate, casual motion. “I can deliver all of that. Or I can walk. But the night’s getting cold, and you’re all looking a little lonely.”
The manipulation was crude, but tailored. It was a gamble on his knowledge of them, on their current vulnerability. Andra was the first to move. She stood, a slow, deliberate unfolding. “The wall,” she said, her voice devoid of its usual playful lilt. It was an order.
Briv’s heart hammered against his ribs. He moved to the rough stone wall. Andra approached him, her big round breasts nearly touching his chest. She didn’t kiss him. She unbuttoned his shorts, freed his cock. He was already fully, achingly hard. She spat into her hand, wrapped her fingers around him, and began to stroke with a firm, knowing rhythm. “You talk a lot, Briv,” she whispered. “Let’s see if your dick is as persuasive as your mouth.”
Behind him, he heard movement. Diana. Her hands slid under his shirt, over his abs, her fingers cool. She peppered his shoulder blades with soft, open-mouthed kisses. “I missed this,” she breathed, the fame-seeker craving focused attention.
Antonia stayed put, watching from a few feet away, her arms crossed. The skeptical audience.
Andra dropped to her knees. She took the head of his cock into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the crown, then sank down, taking him deep into her throat in one smooth, practiced motion. Briv groaned, his head falling back against Diana. Andra’s mouth was hot, wet, and demanding. She bobbed her head, her fist working the base, her dark green eyes locked on his. She was establishing the terms: her control, his submission to her skill.
It was overwhelming. The dual sensation of Diana’s hands and lips on his back, Andra’s devastating mouth on his cock. He was close, too fast. “Andra… I’m gonna…”
She pulled off with a wet pop. “Not yet,” she said, wiping her mouth. She stood up, turned around, and hoisted her skirt. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. The perfect, fit round ass he’d seen a hundred times was now presented to him. “Fuck me, Briv. Fuck me like you’re trying to win something.”
He needed no further invitation. He guided himself to her entrance, slick from her mouth and her own arousal. He pushed in. She was incredibly tight, a silken, clenching heat. He buried himself to the hilt with a strangled cry. Diana’s hands clutched his hips, her nails biting into his skin.
He fucked Andra hard against the wall, each thrust slamming her pelvis into the stone. It was a raw, driving rhythm, a physical argument. Andra pushed back against him, meeting every stroke, a low, continuous moan vibrating in her throat. “That’s it… use that fucking brain to fuck me stupid…”
Diana’s hands slipped around him, one circling his shaft to stroke him in time with his thrusts into Andra, the other cupping and squeezing his balls. The coordination was madness, a symphony of sensation that short-circuited his thoughts. He was a vessel for pleasure, giving and receiving.
He felt his orgasm mount, a tsunami this time, unavoidable. “Andra, I’m…”
“Come in me,” she grunted, the femme fatale order final. “Fill me up.”
The command shattered him. With a roar that was part triumph, part surrender, he exploded inside her, his cock pulsing, pumping his release deep into her clenching channel. She milked him through it, her own orgasm rippling around him, a secondary, resonant shockwave.
He slumped against her, spent, his cock still nestled inside her. One.
Before he could even recover his breath, he was being pulled backwards. Diana. She spun him, pushed him down onto the cool grass. Her classy demeanor was gone, replaced by a hungry, single-minded focus. She straddled his hips, guiding his softening cock—still wet with Andra’s juices and his own come—into herself. She was soaked, ready.
“My turn,” she whispered, sinking down onto him with a gasp of relief. She began to ride him, a frantic, needy pace. “You wanted me to feel coveted? Make me feel it. Tell me.”
Briv, shell-shocked, reached up and gripped her medium breasts through her top. “You’re all I want right now,” he gasped, the lie feeling true in the moment. “Fuck, Diana, you feel incredible.”
She moaned, riding him harder, her fit round beautiful ass slapping against his thighs. She came quickly, with a sharp, high cry, her body convulsing. The aftershocks of his own orgasm and the tight, fluttering grip of hers pushed him toward a second, impossible peak. He came again, a weaker but no less intense pulse, inside her.
Two.
He lay there, wrecked, as Diana collapsed beside him. The world spun. The smell of sex and grass and sea filled his nostrils.
A shadow fell over him. Antonia. She stood above him, her expression unreadable. She kicked his leg lightly with her boot. “You look fucking pathetic.”
Briv could only manage a weak, ragged laugh. “Feel it.”
Antonia shook her head, but a smile played on her lips. The party animal, the one who acted like a boy. She unzipped her jeans, shimmied them down her hips along with her underwear. Her small breasts, her tanned skin, were bathed in moonlight. “You promised all three, hotshot. You’ve got nothing left to give.” She knelt over his face, not his hips. “So you’re gonna give me what you’ve got left. Eat my pussy until I come. Consider it your penance for being such a try-hard.”
She lowered herself onto his mouth. Her taste was different—musky, earthy, honest. He licked her with a tired, devoted thoroughness, his tongue circling her clit, probing her opening. There was no performance here, just a tired man servicing a demanding friend. Antonia gripped his hair, grinding herself against his mouth. “Yeah… just like that… no thinking, remember?”
He focused on the rhythm, the simple cause and effect of tongue and flesh. Her moans were genuine, unfiltered. Her orgasm, when it hit, was a series of loud, barking cries that echoed off the cliff face. She shuddered, soaking his chin, then rolled off him onto the grass.
Three.
Silence, save for their four sets of ragged breathing. Briv stared at the emerging stars, his body a hollowed-out map of exertion. He had done it. He had fucked all three. Not with Kofi’s domineering force, but with a charismatic, exhausting hustle that had left him spiritually bankrupt.
Andra was the first to stir, adjusting her clothes with a clinical efficiency. “Well,” she said, her voice regaining its composed, deadly melody. “You’re a man of your word, Briv.” She sounded almost impressed.
Diana giggled, snuggling against his shoulder. “That was fun. We should do it again sometime.”
Antonia zipped her jeans, stood up, and looked down at him. Her playful, boyish energy was back. “You’re a mess.” She offered him a hand. He took it, and she hauled him to his feet, his legs shaky. “But you’re our mess.”
They left him there on the cliff path, the three Beavers walking back toward their villa, their laughter mingling with the crash of waves below. Briv leaned against the stone wall, the site of his supposed triumph. He had managed all three, just as he set out to do. The knowledge was a cold stone in his gut. He had won the bet, used his knowledge, proven his stamina. But as he looked at the retreating forms of his former teammates, he understood the cost. He had reminded them who they were. In the process, he had lost all sense of who he was supposed to be.