Chapter 4: Spring Break Bull Ride
The arena roared with the crash of the surf and the thrum of a bassline that vibrated through the sand beneath my feet. I stood at the edge of the crowd, squinting against the late-afternoon sun that blazed off the neon sign bolted to the palm-tree frame. A mechanical bull sat in the center, worn leather gleaming with a fresh coat of oil, and five women in bikinis stood in a loose cluster nearby, stretching and laughing, their bodies already glistening with sweat and sunscreen.
The MC, a tan guy with a microphone and a grin that never stopped, was hyping the crowd for the $10,000 prize. The women bounced on their heels, flexing their asses for the cameras and the hollering college crowd. One of them, a blonde with a heavy rack that strained the triangles of her top, mounted the bull first. She waved at the crowd, all confidence, and gripped the handle with both hands.
I focused. My telepathy was a quiet whisper, a needle-thin thread of intent, but I'd learned to make it count. I looked at each of the five women in turn, one after another, and planted the same suggestion in each of their minds. A blooming, electric sensitivity in their clits, a nerve bundle that would fire at the slightest friction. I imagined the sensation growing, impossible to ignore, the way a single brush of fabric could feel like a lightning strike.
The operator hit the switch. The bull started slow, a gentle rocking that made the blonde laugh and toss her hair. Then it kicked, and I watched from the rail as her eyes went wide. Her laugh cut off, replaced by a sharp gasp. Her thighs clenched around the leather, and the motion of the bull slid her forward and back, dragging her bikini bottom across her oversensitive clit.
"Oh," she breathed, and the crowd heard the quiver in her voice. "Oh, fuck."
The bull bucked harder, and her hips twitched, her knuckles going white on the handle. She came with a strangled cry, her entire body shuddering, her tits bouncing against the thin fabric of her top. The crowd cheered, thinking she was just putting on a show, but I saw the way her head lolled back, the way her eyes went glassy.
The operator, grinning like he'd never seen a better show, cranked the dial. The bull's pace doubled, jerking her forward and back in a relentless rhythm. She screamed, a raw, broken sound, as the second orgasm hit her before the first had even faded. Her legs shook, her toes curling against the bull's flanks, and the leather between her thighs was slick with her arousal.
She didn't quit. She gripped the handle with white-knuckled determination, refusing to be thrown, even as the third wave rolled through her and her whole body convulsed. The other women watched, their eyes wide, their own bodies already heating with the seed I'd planted in their minds.
The blonde's third orgasm ripped through her like a wave crashing over sand. Her body arched off the bull, her spine bowing, and a guttural moan tore from her throat. The crowd roared, oblivious, thinking she was selling the ride for the cameras. But then her thighs spasmed, her heels digging into the bull's flanks, and a hot spray burst from beneath her bikini bottom, arcing through the air and catching the sunlight in a glittering, unmistakable stream.
The crowd went silent for a heartbeat. Then they exploded.
"Holy shit!" someone screamed. "She squirted!"
The blonde's head snapped forward, her hair plastered to her sweat-slicked face, her eyes unfocused and wild. She gasped, a broken, wrecked sound, and tried to push herself off the bull, but her arms gave out and she collapsed against the leather, her hips still grinding involuntarily as another wave rolled through her. The operator laughed, a low, delighted sound, and cranked the dial again. The bull bucked hard, and she convulsed, a fourth orgasm ripping through her so violently that a second burst of fluid sprayed onto the mat below.
The other four women stared, frozen. The brunette nearest to me had her hand pressed between her own thighs, grinding against her palm through the thin fabric of her bikini, her mouth hanging open. The redhead beside her was breathing in short, sharp gasps, her nipples visibly hard against her top, her skin flushed from her chest to her cheeks. I could feel the heat radiating off them, the seed I'd planted blooming into a desperate, aching need.
The operator killed the bull, and the blonde slid off the saddle, landing on shaky legs and crumpling to her knees in the sand, her body still trembling. She looked up at the other women, her eyes glassy and dazed, and let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh.
"Your turn," she rasped, and the redhead stepped forward, her eyes locked on the gleaming leather saddle still slick with the blonde's release.
The redhead swung her leg over the saddle without hesitation, settling her weight onto the slick leather. Her bikini was a deep crimson, the top struggling to contain the heavy, surgically enhanced mass of her breasts. They sat high and round, but there was a slight elongation to them, a telltale sign of implants that had settled with time, giving them a subtle teardrop shape that strained against the thin fabric.
She gripped the handle, her knuckles already white, and nodded at the operator. "Hit me."
He didn't hold back. The bull lurched forward with a violent jerk, and the redhead's breasts exploded out of her top on the first bounce. The flimsy fabric gave way with a soft snap, and her tits swung free, huge and heavy, bouncing with a momentum that made the crowd roar. They were magnificent, round and full, with a slight pendulous sway that spoke to their weight, the nipples dark and erect, already beading with sweat.
The operator saw what had happened and grinned wide, cranking the dial higher. The bull bucked and twisted, and the redhead's tits flew in opposite directions, slapping against her arms, her chest, her chin. She gasped, her eyes going wide as the first wave of sensitivity bloomed between her thighs. The leather slid against her clit with every motion, and she cried out, a sharp, broken sound that cut through the bassline.
"Fuck!" she screamed, her hips bucking involuntarily against the saddle.
The bull pitched forward, and her tits swung hard, one of them smacking her in the face. She didn't try to cover them. She couldn't. Both hands were locked on the handle, her only anchor against the relentless motion, and her breasts bounced freely, a wild, obscene pendulum that had the crowd howling.
The second orgasm hit her before she could catch her breath. Her back arched, her toes curling, and a guttural moan tore from her throat. Her tits flew upward with the motion, then crashed down, wobbling violently as the bull kicked again. A thin strand of saliva hung from her lower lip, and her eyes were glassy, unfocused, lost in the relentless waves of pleasure crashing through her.
The operator wasn't done. He cranked the dial to maximum, and the bull spun, bucked, and twisted in a chaotic, bone-jarring rhythm. The redhead's body convulsed, her tits flying in every direction, her screams turning into a series of high-pitched, incoherent whimpers. She came again, and again, each orgasm ripping through her like a shockwave, her hips grinding against the saddle in desperate, involuntary circles.
Her bikini bottom was soaked through, a dark stain spreading across the crimson fabric. The leather beneath her gleamed wet, reflecting the neon lights, and the air around her grew thick with the scent of her arousal. She didn't let go. She held on, her body a vessel for the pleasure I'd planted, her tits swinging and bouncing with every violent motion, a spectacle of flesh and surrender.
The operator killed the bull, and the redhead slid off the saddle in a boneless heap, landing on her knees in the sand, her tits still swinging with the aftershock. She was gasping, her chest heaving, her dark nipples so tight they looked painful. She looked up at the brunette, her lips parted, and managed a wrecked smile.
The MC was already striding into the ring, microphone in hand, his grin wider than ever. He pulled the redhead to her feet and raised her arm like she'd won a championship belt.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a situation!" he bellowed into the mic. "Ten grand on the line and not a single one of these beautiful warriors made the full ten seconds! So we're gonna do something a little different!"
I felt the compulsion leave me like a breath, a subtle pressure sliding into his mind, shaping his words before he even knew what he was saying.
"What happens when you give a spring breaker a prize she can't win with her ass?" He pointed at me, and the crowd's heads swiveled. "You give her a prize she has to earn with her pussy!"
The crowd lost it. I felt the heat of a thousand eyes on me, and my cock thickened in my shorts despite myself.
The MC grabbed the redhead by the wrist and dragged her toward me, then beckoned to the brunette, who stumbled forward on shaky legs, her hand still pressed between her thighs. He pushed them both to stand in front of me, close enough that I could smell the arousal rolling off them, salt and musk and the faint, sweet tang of the blonde's spray still hanging in the air.
"Here's the deal, girls," he said, his voice dropping to a theatrical growl. "You want the ten grand? One of you has to make this man cum. First one to drain him wins the prize. But there's a catch." He winked at the crowd. "You're both still buzzing from that ride, aren't you? Clits like live wires?"
The redhead's face went pale beneath her sunburn. The brunette's eyes went wide, and she shook her head, a tiny, desperate motion.
"Honey, you heard me," the MC said. "Every time you touch him, every time you rub against him, you're gonna cum. And you're gonna count every single one, out loud, so the crowd knows who's really working for it. Dozens of orgasms, maybe. Maybe more. All for a shot at ten thousand dollars."
The crowd howled. Someone started a chant, a rhythmic stomp of feet.
The redhead looked at the brunette. The brunette looked at the redhead. I could see the war on both their faces: the raw, animal terror of what their bodies were about to do to them, and the gleaming, insistent greed that overrode it.
"Fine," the redhead breathed, stepping forward. Her tits swayed with the motion, still slick with sweat. "I'll do it."
The brunette swallowed, then nodded, her hand sliding down to her hip, her thighs pressing together. "So will I."
The MC grabbed two folding chairs from the edge of the ring and set them in the center of the sand, side by side. I was already moving. I stripped off my tank top and shorts, and the crowd roared again at the sight of my bare cock, already fully hard and leaking.
I sank into one of the chairs, my legs spread, my cock standing upright. The two women stood before me, a wall of trembling flesh and desperate, glassy eyes. The redhead stepped forward first, sinking to her knees between my thighs, her heavy, implant-heavy tits pressing against my shins. The brunette knelt beside her, closer to my hip, her fingers already reaching for the base of my shaft.
I nodded at the redhead. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and wrapped her lips around my cock.
"One," she gasped, her voice muffled as her tongue dragged along the underside.
The orgasm hit her from the simple act of tasting the head. Her whole body shuddered, her hips grinding uselessly against the sand, and I felt the wet heat of her release soak through the thin fabric of her bikini bottom. The crowd counted with her, a roaring, synchronized "ONE!" that echoed off the surf.
"Two." The brunette's voice was higher, more desperate. She had her hand wrapped around my shaft, stroking, and the friction of her own palm against her clit had already tipped her over. She came with a whimper, her thighs clamping shut, her body trembling so hard she nearly fell over.
The redhead pulled off my cock, gasping, a strand of saliva connecting her lips to my glans. "Three," she breathed, before she even touched me again, the sensation of her own racing pulse sending another spike through her.
I leaned back in the chair, and I let them work.
I leaned back in the chair, and I let them work.
The redhead's lips were already parting to take me again when the MC's voice cut through the roar of the crowd.
"Hold up, hold up." He strode over, his grin sharp as broken glass, and grabbed both women by the shoulders. "Change of rules. You heard me say pussy, right? I meant pussy. Nothing else. No mouths, no hands, no tits. Just that wet little hole between your legs."
The redhead froze, her lips an inch from my cock. The brunette's hand went slack around my shaft. They looked at each other, then at me, then at the MC, a hot flush of panic spreading across both their faces.
"You can't be serious," the redhead said.
"Ten grand," the MC said simply. "First one to drain him wins. But you only get to use your cunts. You touch him with anything else, you're disqualified. And you still have to count every orgasm. Out loud. So the crowd knows exactly how hard you're working for that money."
The crowd erupted. Someone started a new chant, rhythmic and crude, a single word repeated over and over: "CUNT! CUNT! CUNT!"
The redhead swallowed hard, her heavy tits rising and falling with each rapid breath. The brunette's hand crept down to her own hip, her fingers twitching, desperate to touch herself and forbidden to touch anything else. The seed I'd planted was still burning inside both of them, I could feel it, a live wire humming under their skin, and the anticipation was already sending tremors through their thighs.
"Fine," the redhead rasped. She shuffled forward on her knees, her hands raised in the air like a surrender, her tits swinging with the motion. She straddled my lap, her thighs trembling, and reached down between her legs. Her fingers found the soaked fabric of her bikini bottom and dragged it aside, exposing her slick, swollen lips.
She hovered over my cock, and the heat radiating off her cunt was so intense I could feel it on the underside of my shaft. Her eyes met mine, glassy and desperate, and she sank down.
"Fuck," she breathed, the sound torn from her throat as my cock parted her. She was so wet I slid in to the root in a single, slick motion, her inner walls clenching around me, hot and tight and impossibly wet. Her hands stayed up, gripping the air, her tits bouncing with the sudden fullness.
"One," she gasped, and the orgasm hit her before the word was even out of her mouth. Her whole body locked, her back arching, her cunt spasming around my cock in a series of violent, rippling contractions. The crowd screamed with her, a wall of sound that drowned out even the surf.
"Two!" The brunette had positioned herself at my hip, her own bikini bottom yanked aside, and she lowered herself onto my cock alongside the redhead. There was no room, but they made room, their hips grinding together, their wet cunts pressing against each other and against my shaft. The sensation was overwhelming, two sets of slick, burning walls sliding against me, against each other, in a chaotic, desperate rhythm.
The redhead started to ride, her hips bucking in short, frantic strokes, her hands still raised, her tits flying. Every motion dragged her clit against the base of my cock, and she came again within seconds, a sharp, keening cry that cut through the bassline.
"Three! Four!" she screamed, the numbers tumbling out of her as the waves crashed into each other, one orgasm rolling directly into the next.
The brunette was grinding now, her own hips working in counterpoint, her eyes screwed shut, her teeth clenched. Her hands were locked behind her head, the only way she could stop herself from reaching down and touching. "Five," she choked out, her inner walls fluttering around me. "Six. Oh God, six."
The crowd was counting with them, a roaring chorus that rose and fell with every convulsion. The MC was circling the chair, his phone out, filming. The other three women from the bull were watching from the edge of the ring, the blonde still on her knees in the sand, her eyes wide and hungry.
I gripped the armrests of the chair and let them ride me, two desperate, shuddering bodies, their cunts fighting for the same cock, their orgasms coming so fast they stopped counting with words and started counting with screams.