Chapter 99: Best Ass Competition
The scent of coffee and frying plantains cut through the salty dawn air. On the expansive terrace overlooking the infinity pool, the remains of a colossal breakfast lay scattered across a long teak table. The mood was loose, sated, the brutal intimacies of the black basalt chamber softened by sunlight and good food.
“It’s not an argument, it’s a fact,” Lena said, leaning back in her chair, naked save for one of Bruce’s dress shirts. “My ass is the gold standard. The prototype. You can’t improve on perfection.”
Jasmine scoffed, stretching her long legs out, the gold flecks in her eyes catching the light. “Delusional. Your ass is fantastic, mek a we laugh. Mine is legendary. It’s not just size. It’s the architecture. The slope. The defiance of gravity. It’s engineering.”
“Who said the conversation was limited to the two of you?” Julianna interjected, pouring more açai juice. Her voice was smooth, amused. “A Brazilian ass is a cultural treasure. Mine isn’t just ‘an ass.’ It’s a masterpiece. A national monument.”
Isabella wiped her mouth with a linen napkin, her doctor’s cadence cool and analytical. “Biometrically speaking, mine has the ideal hip-to-waist ratio. The subcutaneous fat distribution is optimal for both aesthetic appeal and functionality. The gluteal lift is, clinically, without peer. It’s simply undeniable.”
Anya, curled in a wide wicker chair, giggled. Her violet eyes sparkled with mischief. “Sorry, ladies, but have you seen my ass? On this small frame? It’s a paradox. It’s like finding a priceless diamond in a tiny velvet box. The impact is… disproportionate.”
Freya grinned at her sister, hefting her own full breasts in a casual, proprietary motion. “Sorry, sis. Yours is glorious, but mine? Total package. Proportionally, it’s the winner. It’s not just an ass; it’s the cornerstone of a fucking empire. Bitch.”
All eyes turned to Briana, who had been quietly nursing a cup of tea, a faint, sore smile on her lips from the night’s ravages. She looked up, her green-blue eyes clear. She didn’t raise her voice. “You’re all wrong. Mine is the best.” She said it as if commenting on the weather.
Camille laughed, a rich, warm sound. She was at the stove, flipping a final arepa. “I hate to break it to you fabulous young things, but this booty?” She turned and gave her rounded, generous backside a firm, proud slap. The sound was a sharp crack in the morning air. “This is vintage. Aged to perfection. The curves have history, mijas. They’re still writing the book.”
Bruce watched from the head of the table, a mug of black coffee dwarfed in his large hands. Amusement played in his hazel eyes. The exhaustion from Susannah and Jasmine’s conquest was deep in his bones, but this… this was life.
“Okay, Papi,” Lena said, slapping the table. “Time to settle this. Once and for all.”
Bruce took a slow sip. “And how should I do that? I love all your asses. They’re all gifts from God. Masterpieces. Each one unique.”
“Competition,” Lena declared, her eyes alight. “Tiny bikinis. Big asses. A parade. A showdown.”
Bruce chuckled. “And who are the judges? Needs to be impartial. Jake and I…” He gestured to the young man sitting quietly at the other end of the table, who blushed slightly. “…we’ve been too intimate with all your asses. We’re biased.”
Lena’s face fell for a second, then scrunched in thought. “So where do we get judges from? Nobody else lives on this island.”
A heavy, contemplative silence fell. The only sounds were the cry of distant gulls and the gentle lap of the pool water.
It was Ketut who broke it. She had been silent all morning, her black eyes distant, watching not the women but the horizon line where sea met sky. “There are others,” she said softly. All heads turned to her. “Not people. Not… judges. But there is a presence. In the old grove. The stones see. The earth remembers.”
An uneasy chill, fleeting but real, passed through the warm air. It was a reminder of the glyphs in the dark chamber, of the pulse that wasn’t a pulse.
Lena, ever pragmatic, brushed it off first. “Stones? Great. So we need a venue. Somewhere with… atmosphere.” Her grin returned, wicked. “And privacy. Because this isn’t just a show. It’s the prelude.”
“The prelude to what?” Freya asked, leaning forward.
“To him,” Lena said, nodding at Bruce, “fucking the living daylights out of the winner. And the runner-up. And probably everyone who participates. A celebratory fuckathon. Judged by the fucking island itself.”
The idea, absurd and electrifying, took hold. Julianna’s lips curved. Isabella raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. Anya clapped her hands. The specter Ketut had raised was momentarily buried under a wave of salacious anticipation.
“The old grove,” Camille said, turning off the stove. “At sunset. The light comes through the mangroves just so.” She looked at Bruce. “You’ll need your strength, husband.”
Bruce felt the familiar, responding stir. The memory of Briana’s tight heat, of Jasmine’s commanding ride, was now overlaid with this new, glittering prospect. A pageant of the most magnificent asses on earth, all for him, all leading to an unrestrained claiming. His power, a low hum in his core, agreed.
“Tiny bikinis?” he confirmed, his voice a low rumble.
“The tiniest,” Lena promised.
“And the grove at sunset,” he said, finalizing it.
The day unfolded in a whirlwind of deliberate anticipation. The women disappeared into the villa’s depths, the sound of laughter, closet doors, and hissed debates over fabric scraps echoing down the halls. Jake sought out Bruce by the pool, his young face serious.
“The grove… Ketut’s not wrong,” Jake said, his bombardier’s eyes wary. “There are voices there. Not voices you hear with your ears. I’ve felt them.”
“Good or bad voices?” Bruce asked, watching the water.
“Not good. Not bad. Old. Hungry.” Jake shrugged. “Maybe they just want to see some fine asses too.”
By late afternoon, the air was thick with the perfume of tropical flowers and coconut oil. The path to the grove was a tunnel of whispering mangrove trees, their roots like skeletal fingers in the black water. The clearing was just as Camille had described: a perfect circle of soft moss, surrounded by ancient, smooth basalt stones that seemed placed, not fallen. In the center stood a single, taller stone, like an altar. The setting sun bled through the canopy, casting long, dappled stripes of gold and deep green.
Bruce stood by the altar stone, Jake at his shoulder. They were alone. Then, a figure emerged from the trees.
It was Briana.
She moved with a new, languid confidence, the lingering soreness from the night before transformed into a fluid sway. Her bikini was two minuscule triangles of emerald green silk tied at the hips and neck, leaving nothing of her staggering curves to the imagination. The fabric vanished between the full, rounded hemispheres of her ass, which gleamed oiled and perfect in the fractured light. She walked to the center, gave Bruce a slow, smoldering look over her shoulder, and then bent forward, placing her hands on the altar stone. The pose was an unabashed offering, showcasing the sublime architecture of her backside.
Before Bruce could even react, Lena appeared from the opposite side. Her bikini was fiery red, a mere string affair that highlighted the famous, gravity-defying bounce of her rear with every step. She circled Briana like a shark, then assumed an identical position beside her, pushing her ass out in direct competition.
One by one, they came. Jasmine in gold, her ass indeed a masterpiece of sculpted, powerful curves. Julianna in cobalt blue, her Brazilian bounty a statement of lush, undeniable volume. Isabella in pure white, her posture clinically perfect, showcasing the high, firm globes. Anya in violet, her small-waisted frame making her round, pert behind look almost impossibly generous. Freya in black, her formidable proportions dominating the space. Susannah in earthy brown, her strong, warrior’s ass a testament to discipline and strength. Sophia in navy, her fitness-toned glutes hard and defined. Even Ketut, in simple indigo, her lithe body possessing a subtle, graceful curvature.
Finally, Camille. She wore deep burgundy. Her stride was a queen’s. Her ass, fuller, riper, a testament to years of life and pleasure, moved with a hypnotic, knowing rhythm. She took her place at the end of the line, bending forward with a grace that silenced the soft giggles and whispers.
Eleven women. Eleven of the most spectacular asses Bruce had ever seen, oiled, arched, presented under the dripping gold of the sunset. The air left his lungs. Jake muttered, “Gods…” under his breath.
The grove itself seemed to hold its breath. The light dimmed, concentrated. The stones around the clearing began to emit a faint, phosphorescent glow, a soft greenish light that painted the women’s skin in otherworldly hues. Ketut had been right. They were being watched. Assessed. The atmosphere thickened, charged with a primordial sexuality.
“The stones…” Jake whispered. “They’re… approving.”
A warm, approving hum vibrated through the moss under their feet. It was not menacing. It was deeply, profoundly voyeuristic.
“Fuck the judging,” Bruce growled, the last thread of his restraint snapping. The raw, visual feast, the psychic pressure from the grove, the blatant provocation of their poses—it ignited him. His cock, responding to his will and the scene, thickened and lengthened in his shorts, pressing against the fabric with urgent demand.
He didn’t choose a winner. He chose a starting point.
He moved directly to Briana. His hands, large and rough, grasped the emerald-green strings at her hips and pulled. The flimsy fabric tore away. A collective gasp went up from the line. He didn’t bother with his own clothes; he just shoved the waistband of his shorts down, freeing his already massive, rigid cock.
He spat into his palm, slicked his broad head, and positioned it at her entrance. She was still loose from the night before, but tight nonetheless. “You began this,” he grunted, and without further ceremony, he drove into her pussy from behind in one long, deep stroke.
Briana cried out, her hands splaying on the cool altar stone. The impact rocked her forward. He fucked her with immediate, brutal intensity, each thrust slamming her pelvis against the rock. The wet, meaty sound of their coupling echoed in the clearing.
But he didn’t stop there. This was the fuckathon Lena had promised.
As he pistoned into Briana, Lena, next in line, arched her back further, wiggling her red-clad ass. “My turn, Papi! Don’t forget me!”
With his left hand, Bruce reached out, tangled his fingers in the strings of Lena’s bikini bottom, and yanked them aside. He didn’t even look; he just traced his fingers through her slick folds, found her clit, and began rubbing rough, tight circles as he continued to pound into Briana. Lena shrieked, her knees buckling, coming almost instantly against his hand.
Jasmine left her position, unable to wait. She knelt on the moss beside Bruce, taking his balls into her mouth, sucking and licking as he plowed Briana. Isabella and Julianna moved behind him, their hands running over his back, his shoulders, kissing his neck.
It was an orgy not of confused limbs, but of focused, shared purpose: his pleasure, their saturation.
Briana’s orgasm hit, her pussy clenching around him in rhythmic spasms. He pulled out of her, his cock glistening. He turned, and Anya was there, having shimmied out of her violet bottoms. She jumped up, wrapping her legs around his waist, and impaled herself on him with a piercing cry. He supported her effortlessly, bouncing her small, fierce body on his shaft, her incredible ass flexing with each movement.
He fucked Anya against the altar stone. He bent Freya over it. He took Julianna doggystyle on the moss, her legendary ass meeting each of his thrusts with a thunderous clap. He ordered Sophia onto all fours and mounted her, her trainer’s body yielding to his punishing pace. He pulled Ketut to him, lifted her lithe frame, and pushed her against a glowing stone, driving into her with a focus that made her dark eyes roll back.
Camille watched, her eyes dark with pride and lust, until he finally came to her. He kissed her deeply, tasting her, the anchor of his life. Then he turned her, bent her over the very altar that had started it all, and entered her with a reverence that was itself a kind of violence. He fucked his first wife with a rolling, deep, possessive grind, his hands worshiping her vintage curves. “Mi reina,” he choked out as he came inside her, his release hot and endless.
He collapsed against her, spent, his monstrous cock finally softening. The grove was silent. The stone glow faded to a soft ember, then winked out. The ancient, hungry presence withdrew, sated.
The women lay sprawled on the moss, a landscape of exhausted, glistening beauty. Lena, grinning through her fatigue, crawled over to Briana. “So? Who won?”
Briana laughed, a soft, breathy sound. “The grove didn’t say.”
“I think we all won,” Camille murmured, stroking Bruce’s sweaty head where it lay on her back.
From the edge of the trees, Jake let out a long, shaky breath. He had watched, rapt, his own need evident. Susannah, noticing, crooked a finger at him. “Your turn, sug. The night’s young.”
The night’s young.” The words hung in the salt-thick air, a promise and a challenge. Languid bodies began to stir on the damp moss. Low laughter bubbled up, mixed with soft groans of pleasurable ache.
Bruce lifted his head from Camille’s back, his senses returning. The grove felt different now. Empty. The stones were just stones again, dark and inert. The primal voyeur had gotten its show and retreated. He slowly pulled out of Camille, a last, intimate connection breaking.
“Hold on,” he said, his voice rough but firm. He stood, his legs steadying. “Before we move on. Before we bring this… celebration back to the infinity pool.” He looked at the altar stone, then at the circle of watching stones. “We started this with a question. Let’s finish that part.”
Lena, who was helping a wobbly Briana to her feet, perked up. “The judging! The stones!”
“Exactly,” Bruce said. “One at a time. Each of you stands before the stones. We’ll see what they have to say. A proper verdict.”
A new current, this one of playful tension, replaced the post-coital haze. They all knew what had just happened was the true prize, but the game had its own appeal. Camille smiled, retrieving her burgundy bottoms. “A final ruling. I like it.”
They formed a loose line, a procession of stunning, disheveled women. Bruce and Jake stood to the side, near the tree line. The sun was nearly gone, leaving the grove in deep indigo twilight. The only light seemed to come from the women’s skin itself.
“Ketut,” Bruce said gently. “You start.”
Ketut nodded, her expression unreadable. She walked, naked, to the center of the stone circle. She stood facing the altar, her back to the others, her lithe form a stark silhouette. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a faint, milky glow emanated from the stones at her feet. It was modest, a soft pulse of light that illuminated her ankles before fading.
She turned, a small smile on her lips. “I didn’t expect to win,” she said simply.
Bruce smiled back. “Doesn’t mean your ass isn’t spectacular.” She gave a genuine smile then and moved to stand beside Jake.
“Susannah,” Bruce called.
The gunslinger strode forward, her bearing straight and proud. She took her place. The stones responded with a slightly brighter pulse, a warm amber that climbed to her calves. She nodded once, a curt, satisfied acknowledgement, and stepped aside.
“Freya.”
The tall blonde sauntered forward, her heavy breasts swaying. She struck a playful pose, hands on her hips. The stones flared brighter than before, a clear, golden light that licked up to her thighs. “Brightest so far!” she announced, grinning over her shoulder at Anya before joining the others.
“Sophia.”
The personal trainer moved with athletic grace. She stood calmly, feet planted. The stones didn’t just pulse; they ignited. A brilliant, sustained white light shot up, bathing her entire body in a radiant halo. It was startling, intense. “Well, damn,” Sophia murmured, a proud smile breaking across her face as the light slowly faded.
“Isabella.”
The doctor approached with clinical poise. She stood perfectly still. The stones reacted violently again, but with a different quality—a deeper, bluish-white radiance that seemed even more intense, throwing sharp shadows across the grove. She glanced at Sophia. “Sorry, Sophia. Looks like I’m in first.” She walked off, her perfect posture radiating cool triumph.
“Camille.”
His first wife walked forward, not with a model’s strut, but with the grounded confidence of a queen claiming her domain. She stood, hands on her generous hips, and looked at the stones as if daring them. They answered with a conflagration. A rich, honeyed gold light exploded from the ground, so bright and full it seemed to hum. It enveloped her completely, making her skin glow like a forged ingot. She laughed, a rich, full sound. “Sorry, Bella,” she called out. “This old chica surpassed you.” The light held for a long moment before receding. Camille took her spot, now in first.
“Julianna.”
The Brazilian agent was next. The stones glowed brightly, a vibrant sapphire light, but it lacked the overwhelming fullness of Camille’s. It was similar in intensity to Isabella’s. Julianna shrugged, unbothered. “Still a monument,” she said, and winked at Bruce.
The standings were clear in everyone’s mind now: Camille first, followed by Isabella and Julianna in a near tie.
“Anya.”
The youngest wife practically skipped forward, her violet eyes gleaming. She stood on tiptoe, her petite frame poised. The stones erupted. It wasn’t just light; it was a cascade of vivid amethyst brilliance that shot upward in a column, so bright it momentarily washed the color from everything else. Anya’s jaw dropped. She took the top spot, decisively.
“Briana.”
Sombra’s sombra walked forward, her movements still liquid from his earlier use of her. She stood quietly. The response was a powerful, emerald surge, brilliant and deep, settling just a shade below Anya’s volcanic display. Second place. Camille was bumped to third.
Only two remained. The air crackled. Lena and Jasmine stared at each other, a lifetime of friendly rivalry crystallizing in this absurd, mystical moment.
“Jasmine,” Bruce said.
Jasmine exhaled, rolling her shoulders. She walked to the center, every muscle in her legendary ass flexing with deliberate intent. She didn’t just stand; she presented. The stones didn’t flare—they detonated. A pure, blinding white-gold light, shot through with filaments of crimson, erupted from the ground. It was punishingly bright, a sunburst in the grove, making everyone flinch and look away. It crowned her, worshipped her, for a full ten seconds before fading, leaving purple afterimages on their retinas. She had easily taken over first.
A hush fell. All eyes went to Lena.
Bruce nodded. “Lena.”
His shadow. She walked forward slowly, for once not talking. Her expression was fierce, focused. This was her domain, her point of pride. She stopped, turned her back to the stones, and looked right at Bruce. Then she arched, presenting the ass that had started countless fantasies and arguments.
For a heartbeat, nothing.
Then the world went white.
It was not a light. It was an annihilation of shadow. The stones screamed with incandescence, a silent, piercing radiance that had no color, only sheer intensity. It was a physical force. Bruce threw his arm over his eyes. The women cried out, turning away, hiding their faces against each other’s shoulders. The grove was gone, consumed in this blazing verdict.
It lasted an eternity. It lasted three seconds.
When it vanished, the darkness that rushed back in felt thick and blinding. Spots danced in everyone’s vision. Lena slowly straightened up, a triumphant, slightly dazed smile on her face. She turned to look at Jasmine, who was blinking rapidly, a stunned, grudging respect on her face.
“Best on earth, Jazzy,” Lena said, her voice husky.
Jasmine shook her head, laughing softly in surrender. “Yeah. Yeah, you win, girl.” The final order was set: Lena first, Jasmine a very close second, Anya a radiant third.
Bruce walked into the circle, his eyes adjusting. He went to Lena, cupped her face, and kissed her hard. “No argument,” he whispered against her lips.
Then he turned, his gaze sweeping over Jasmine and Anya. The game was over. The verdict was in. Now came the enforcement.
“Infinity pool,” he said, the command clear. “Now.”
The walk back through the mangroves was charged, silent but for the sound of bare feet on dirt and the quickened rhythm of breathing. The infinity pool awaited, its black waters merging with the star-dusted ocean, the deck lights a soft, welcoming glow.
They didn’t make it to the water.
As they cleared the tree line onto the smooth patio, Bruce caught Lena’s wrist. He spun her around, bent her over the wide limestone coping of the pool, her upper body suspended over the dark water. Her triumphant ass, now officially sanctioned by the island’s ancient stones, was raised in the humid air.
He was already fully hard, his cock throbbing with a possessive urgency. He nudged at her entrance, found her soaked and ready. “This,” he growled, “is for winning.”
He sheathed himself inside her in one brutal, bottoming thrust. Lena shrieked, her fingers scrambling against the wet stone. He fucked her with a relentless, driving pace, each snap of his hips a ratification of the stones’ judgment. The sounds were obscenely loud in the open air: the slap of skin, the splash of pool water from her dangling hands, her choked, happy sobs.
Jasmine watched, her gold bikini already discarded. She moved behind Bruce, pressing her magnificent, second-place ass against him, grinding her slick folds along his thrusting rhythm. She reached around, her fingers finding Lena’s clit, rubbing it in tight, frantic circles as Bruce hammered into her friend.
Anya, not to be left out, crawled onto the coping in front of Lena. She kissed Lena deeply, swallowing her cries, then slid down, taking one of Lena’s swaying breasts into her mouth, sucking and biting the nipple.
It was a raw, tangled claim on the winner. Bruce felt his control fraying, the image of that blinding white light seared into his mind, fueling him. He gripped Lena’s hips hard enough to bruise, pounding into her depths until her body began to clamp around him in fierce, fluttering spasms. Her orgasm tore through her, a silent, shuddering wreck of sensation that made her teeth sink into Anya’s shoulder.
He pulled out of Lena, his cock gleaming. He turned, and Jasmine was already moving, assuming the same position over the pool’s edge, presenting her runner-up prize. He entered her with the same unceremonious force. Jasmine’s back arched, a guttural “Yes!” ripped from her throat.
This was different. Jasmine matched him, push for push, her body strong and demanding. “Fuck your second-place ass!” she yelled over the splashing water. “Fuck it like you mean it!”
He did. He drove into her with a focused fury, one hand fisted in her hair. Anya now attended to Jasmine, her small mouth traveling down the pilot’s spine. Lena, recovering, knelt beside them, her mouth capturing Bruce’s, her tongue dueling with his as he plundered her best friend.
Bruce’s release built, a tsunami in his gut. He pulled out of Jasmine just before the point of no return, making her whimper in protest.
“Anya,” he commanded, his voice shattered.
The third-place winner scrambled up. She didn’t bend over. She jumped, wrapping her legs around him, just as she had in the grove. He carried her the few steps to a wide sun lounger and fell onto it with her beneath him. He shoved her thighs apart and plunged into her, her small, tight body a devastating vise.
“My diamond,” he grunted, slamming into her. “My perfect, priceless fucking diamond.”
Anya wrapped her arms around his neck, her violet eyes wide, taking every inch, every brutal stroke. He fucked her into the cushioned lounger, the metal frame creaking in protest. He could feel it, the climax tearing through him. He buried his face in her neck, driving home one last, deep time.
“Now,” she whispered, biting his ear. “Fill me up, King. Mark your third place.”
He roared, his body locking as he erupted. Jet after hot jet of his cum flooded her, spilling out around the relentless push of his cock. He collapsed, spent, his weight pressing her into the lounger.
Silence, broken only by the lap of the pool water and their ragged breathing. The night sky wheeled above, indifferent and spectacular.
Slowly, the other women descended the steps into the infinity pool, washing away sweat and sex. Soft conversation began to flow again. Lena helped a wobbly Jasmine into the water. Camille floated on her back, a serene smile on her face.
Bruce finally rolled off Anya, who curled into his side. He stared up at the stars, the deep, satisfying emptiness in his body a temporary monument to the day.
From the shadows of the patio doors, Ketut watched. She did not join them in the water. Her eyes were on the distant, dark line of the mangroves. The stones had glowed. They had judged. But in that final, blinding white light, she hadn’t felt just judgment.
She had felt acknowledgement. And a deep, ancient hunger waking up, turning its attention toward the source of all that radiant, competitive life.
She shivered, despite the warm night, and slipped back inside without a word.