
Chapter 57: Let the Games Begin

It was a testament to how populous the twin cities were when we arrived at the palace. The structure was spacious, but the pilose horde made it densely packed like an overstuffed carriage. Hrafnir located his mate and our family in the rows of seats. Thank Faer everyone in dad’s household shared dad’s prestige and had reserved seats. They became cramped from the chockablock of people despite being one of the better spots in the arena.

Rýnaki and Ingileif were the last to arrive because of one reason. Knotting. They were conjoined by genitalia, and they very recently did it. I beheld him pump the last couple loads of his seed into her womb. Mom lay on her side, jerking and fellating dad’s penis, and Æsignís sat on her husband’s lap with her cunt stuffed with cock.

“What’s in store for the tournament?” Rýnaki inquired, fondling his wife’s naked breasts.

“There are sixteen rounds in store for today, but I won’t watch all of them, and I won’t expect any of you to stick around for the whole duration,” dad answered, fixing mom’s head to his phallus. “I want to see Jærvmi and Þjálfí compete the most. Jærvmi’s round is third in line, and Þjálfí is the fourteenth match, so your mother and I will take advantage and tend to our pups during the gap. There will be another feast for the eight champions who advance today, and then there’ll be an interregnum tomorrow.” He looks at Róstran. “Gives us plenty of time to celebrate your birthday.” One of the elite guards of the palace walked to the middle of the arena, producing a sonorous sound that reverberated throughout the area. “Let the games begin.”

The remaining contestants appeared in the arena. Around half are naked, and the other half had some form of armor. The crowd erupted in cheers when the announcer heralded each champion, increasing in volume depending on the popularity of the contestant. As I prognosticated, Þjálfí had the most stentorian applause although Jærvmi and Íkamæn had their fair share of fans. Some parts of the crowd cheered for Kellam, none more so than his brothers in the Church of the Red Wolf, and they were obvious where they were despite sitting on the other side of the stadium. The announcer began detailing who was fighting who in each round and how the contestants could advance, and the tournament commenced.

The first and second rounds went by in a flash as I tried absorbing all I could. It was evident the contestants were elite, possessing skills that were dad’s level. Either the tournament was for only them, or the average soldiers, guards, or civilians attempted but got eliminated quickly. I beheld them perform maneuvers he demonstrated to Lárus and me.

One nude Direfenri with red fur in the second round revealed he could enter the rare primal rage, augmenting his power. The crowd roared with excitement when he did. The other naked Direfenri with yellow fur was stupefied, standing in place and blinking. More bewilderment manifested in the yellow Direfenri after the quick strikes didn’t faze him. It looked like the brighter-colored contestant was an abecedarian of a Fenri’s rage and unfortunately had his first lesson ever of it today. He overwhelmed him, knocking him to the ground and earning some points. However, he wasn’t done. He jumped on him, and the two writhed on the floor. The rage gave him the advantage, and he pinned him, beginning to choke him. I imagined him humping due to the close proximity of his groin and his opponent’s ass. Instead, he choked him until the yellow Direfenri tapped out.

“Time for Jærvmi,” dad uttered, rubbing mom’s head while she held and licked his penis.

“Alright!” Rýnaki shouted enthusiastically, wincing from his knot inside Ingileif’s vagina.

Jærvmi entered the arena clad in some light armor although his sheath and testicles were exposed. Once again, his fans made their presence known, and Rýnaki and dad also cheered, the latter whistling through his fingers. The talked to them about the rules, they agreed, and the third round began.

Jærvmi was the first to attack. His weapon was a rapier, and his thrusts were like a woodpecker at a tree. The opponent’s light grey fur turned crimson from the wounds. He scored six out fifteen points needed to win, two of which came from disarming his opponent. They were there to make the rounds shorter and to prevent any unnecessary deaths between the challengers if one refused to capitulate. Like the previous round, a contestant could surrender or be unconscious to lose.

“He’s fast,” Dágfárik uttered, awestruck. He was the most engrossed about out of the household, jotting down what he saw on some paper.

“Looks like your bet is paying off, Rýnaki,” dad said, moaning blissfully after.

“Come on,” Rýnaki uttered with concern.

The opponent wasn’t letting those points go unanswered. He moved aside when Jærvmi lunged forward and caught his arm. Jærvmi winced in agony when he exerted bone-breaking pressure on it, dragooning him into dropping the weapon, and he gained two points. Now, they were both weaponless. He kicked Jærvmi’s weapon far away from him, retrieving his own. Jærvmi was on the defensive, retreating from him, and Rýnaki and Dágfárik nervously chewed their claws.

Jærvmi ended up on the floor, giving his rival another point. He rolled away multiple times as his opponent struck nothing but ground. The rolls led him to his blade. Just when he was about to grab it, the other Direfenri stepped on it. He got a leg tangled with his challenger’s feet, tripping him. I heard him yell as he sat on top of the Direfenri, pressing his rapier’s tip at the throat. That earned him another four points.

Rather than surrendering, the Direfenri reversed roles with Jærvmi and ended up on top. He savagely punched his physiognomy enough times to tie the score, and one of Jærvmi’s laniaries flew away. Jærvmi ended up with bruises, a black eye, and a bloody nose too. Everyone in group grimaced at the punches, and the twin stepbrothers shouted encouragement to Jærvmi.

Jærvmi performed a sordid but juridical tactic to get his opponent off of him. He threw dirt into his eyes, and the blindness allowed him to throw the Direfenri away. He landed on top of him, giving him his just desserts. The points gave him the victory.

My group cheered, and Rýnaki winced as his knot slipped out, spilling his sperm just as Hrafnir knotted Æsignís. Mom and dad left the party to check on the pups until Þjálfí’s match began. I stayed and observed the potential suitors fight each other.

The next noteworthy match was the fifth one, which was Íkamæn versus a black and grey Direfenri in leather armor. He had no weapon on him in addition to his nudity. According to the gossip around the two cities, he was the only one who entered the tournament and registered his hands as his weapon of choice. As far as I knew, he and Þjálfí were the most unique contestants.

Íkamæn was nimble despite his hulking frame. The other Direfenri swung and touched nothing but air. However, the opponent didn’t leave an opening for him to land a blow either, and it looked like the advance had plenty of juice left. He appeared too focused to be daunted by the interminable, heavy blows. I heard the people nearby expressing their discontent at the lack of violence and asking if Íkamæn was going to land a hit.

“He’s leading him to a trap,” Hrafnir uttered, holding his knotted wife’s breasts.
I turned at Hrafnir. “Íkamæn is?” He nodded affirmatively.

“I see it, too,” Lárus concurred, and he was not amused.

“There.” Róstran gesticulated to the arena, and I discerned what they descried.

There was a deep fissure in the ground from the previous round, and Íkamæn was leading his opponent to it, living up to the calculating personality I heard about. The trap went as expected, and his challenger tripped on it. He exploited the opening and got two lighting fast jabs into his rival’s left arm. It didn’t appear he did any significant damage, so I was confused as to why the other Direfenri made it to be a herculean effort to wield a greatsword after effortlessly using it seconds ago.

The other Direfenri was just as perplexed as I was when he tried moving his afflicted arm. When the attempt became otiose, he revealed he could wield the blade with one hand although two metacarpi were optimal. He couldn’t swing as fast or as frequently as before, leaving behind multitudinous openings for Íkamæn.

Íkamæn took every opportunity given to him, quickly racking up points. Now, he went from calculating to playing with his food. The sixth and seven points resulted in the other Direfenri unable to utilize both arms, but the round continued. He was blatant with the toying and reduced the frequency of earning points.

“Is it just me, or is the way Íkamæn is fighting preternaturally redolent of someone we are abreast with, Lárus and Kaera,” Róstran ominously spoke.

“I suspect he taught Aðalstænn,” Lárus responded, snarling.

“That, or they had the same pedagogue,” I added, recollecting the moment Aðalstænn kicked our asses.

Íkamæn capitalized his final point and perfect match by striking the Direfenri in such a way that it paralyzed the entire body. Some guards had to enter and carry him out. He looked all over the arena with his hands extended, beckoning the crowd to cheer. He barely received any, if at all. He walked out with his head hanging down melancholically, and I shivered that he was one step closer to mating Ilmur.

The final noteworthy match before Þjálfí’s turn was the round before his. That was Kellam’s round. Kellam made his opponent look like Róstran. The opponent shivered. I had horripilations. His brothers and sisters in the Church of the Red Wolf, including Vakörr and Manasína, started chanting.

Kellam’s opponent immediately went into a rage and charged once the referee inaugurated the round. Kellam remained cold, menacing, and still while he ran at him. The yelling was only a facade, masking his trepidation that retarded his celerity and made is legs quaver. He landed numerous blows and racked up points. It was perplexing why Kellam allowed him to quickly reach so close to the threshold to win without responding. Moreover, none of the blows didn’t faze Kellam at all like Kellam maintained an active rage in obscurity.

I had to rub my eyes at what occurred next, presupposing they were engaged in tomfoolery. It looked like Kellam increased his size. His rival fell on his fundament while taking a few steps back, continuing to crawl away from him. Unfortunately for him, he grabbed him by the legs and quickly pulled him back, the opponent’s claws tearing up a modicum of the ground. He flopped him straight to the ground repeatedly. I heard the bones crack with every impact. The opponent was defeated in the quickest reversal and match in the tournament.

Hrafnir pulled out of Æsignís just as mom and dad appeared. “Just missed the fun, dad.”

“I missed Þjálfí compete?” Dad uttered in a surprised tone. His eyes shut, and he moans as his penis went inside mom’s vagina.

Hrafnir shook his head. “No. Kellam had his turn.”
“Let me guess. He won.”

“Easily,” Dágfárik replied. “At first, he stood and allowed his opponent to rack up nearly enough points to win, but he proved the match was one-sided in his favor.” He recreated the savagery from Kellam’s match. “He left him broken in multiple areas and ended it with the fastest time.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” dad responded, fondling mom’s mammillae. “Don’t get too fixated on him.”

“I won’t apotheosize him. He’s too barbaric for my liking. However, I’ll closely study his fighting style.”

Dad equally divided his attention between thrusting into his spouse’s vagina and the incoming challengers., pointing at them. “I recommend scrutinizing this match meticulously.”

“Already planned on doing that.” Dágfárik stared intently at the arena, resting his head on his metacarpi.

The audience made it fulsomely clear this match was the main event. Þjálfí relished the attention and paraded his naked body a bit, doing some lubricious movements to rile up the females. They stirred mom up despite taking a dick up her cunt at the moment. It dawned on me about one aspect unique to him. He was one the scant few pure Fenri in the tournament while the rest were part Direfenri or plenary versions, and his opponent taunted him because of the disparity.

Much like the previous round, Þjálfí’s rival made the first moves while he remained on his side of the field. However, unlike that match, he didn’t allow him to score any points. He smacked him with the narrow end of his halberd whenever the opponent got close, the challenger rubbing the bruises. None of the thwacks resulted in points, so he used the business end periodically to slowly score. His movements were peculiar. He appeared to be dancing and having fun.

“He’s toying with him,” Dágfárik uttered, rapidly shifting his eyes.

“More than you realize,” dad responded, his testicles slapping against’s mom’s pussy.

Dágfárik turned his head to his begetter. “How do you know?”

“When you have decades of experience under your belt, you can pick up on the traits.” Dad gesticulated at Þjálfí. “He’s deliberately and severely hindering himself. If he really wanted to win, Kellam wouldn’t have the record.”

Dágfárik growled bitterly and turned his gaze to the match. “Then why all the showmanship?”

“For the ladies.” Dad flipped mom over so she faced him and resumed copulation.

“His weapon is peculiar,” Hrafnir uttered, licking Æsignís’s cum-filled cunt while she completed the sixty-nine. He held four fingers up on his left hand. “I can count this many people who wield it that I know of.”

“I can give you three guesses as to who taught him.”

Hrafnir surceased the cunnilingus suddenly, his eyes darting to dad. “You don’t mean?” He inquired, tongue still on Æsignís’s vagina.

Dad nodded slowly, retarding the celerity of the perforations into mom’s snatch. “Mmm-hmm. Ljósálfur Lyngþórsæn.” The name caused Rýnaki, Dágfárik, their wives, his spouse, several nearby people, and Róstran to stare at him.

“No way,” Rýnaki and Dágfárik uttered coevally.

“He was your pedagogue, too, dad,” Róstran spoke. The only time I saw the enthralled, enthusiastic expression on his countenance was with his Champions of Noß cards.
“That’s another reason why you know Þjálfí is holding back,” Dágfárik enunciated. He winced from looking at the arena. “He finally did something worthwhile, but ouch.”

Dad nodded some more and stop thrusting, leaving his penis in mom’s twat. “Ljósálfur had a lengthy history of cultivating warriors, and, yes, I was one of them.”

“I gather being an apprentice to someone like him is noteworthy,” Lárus articulated.

“How does one land a disciplinarian like him?” I catechized.

“It is, Lárus,” dad spoke. “Receiving a personal mentor from a designated list is the zenith in a person’s educational career in fighting. Not even the most prestigious boot camps can compare. Landing one though is a herculean effort, even more so with someone like Ljósálfur. You need to possess innate adroitness, attend the best educational facilities around, and be flawless with your grades to even have a chance if you seek one out. He…” He just chuckles. “He sought you out instead and was very fastidious with his selection, often taking one student every ten years. It didn’t matter your status, and he had no qualms whatsoever tearing anyone who pissed him off a new asshole from the lowest of commoners to the Alpha Prime.” He resumed sex with his spouse. “Those days are long gone, and I suspect Þjálfí is his final apprentice.”

“So, Jövæk was correct when he said Þjálfí was a younger version of you,” Rýnaki said.

“Probably will surpass me soon if he hasn’t already. He’s the youngest Fenri to attend the same boot camp and mentor I did and being one of a bantam handful who got the education while being from a low income area. I’m also not getting younger, so the torch will pass on at some point.”

“That means you know how to wield halberds, too,” Dágfárik uttered, looking like he saw dad in a new light.

“I know virtually all types of weapons known in Illyria and a decent amount of strategy because of Ljósálfur.” Dad saw Róstran giving him a doubtful expression. “Ok… a lot more strategy, but no one can match Fjöðvar.”

“Another mentor, I take it,” Lárus spoke.

“One out of six in Canir. Each one has you set for life, assuming you live long, but he is currently the most coveted. However.” Dad didn’t finish his sentence, forming an O with his left hand instead. “He’s here in the Alpha Prime’s castle as an advisor.”

“Then why hasn’t he shown up?”

Dad paused and howled his orgasm for a bit, pumping his pups into mom. “He researches extensively in his quarters. I swear he has gained the ability to turn knowledge into sustenance.”

We all turned to the arena when the crowd erupted in cheers. Þjálfí was standing while the opponent got back on his feet. The points were zero for the challenger and five for him. He was more serious but still took his time.He was just as calculating as Íkamæn, waiting for moments to strike.

The opponent tried faking an attack from the right and going in with the actual attack from the left, but Þjálfí caught it with his halberd. He twisted the blade away from him. In a blinding speed, he got behind him and put the blunt section of his weapon around him on the neck. The force dragooned him to his knees and choked him until he achieved victory.

Dad had the prognostication for us to leave the stadium while the final match was in progress to beat the crowd and carried mom while they were still conjoined. “Don’t forget the bacchanal tonight. Then, the rest of the day is yours. Tomorrow will be a momentous occasion for Róstran, so don’t stay up too late.”

About that, I thought while cogitating how to make tomorrow extra special for Róstran.

Dinner was uneventful and bland as I had hoped, given what transpired yesterday. The food was delicious, the remaining champions appeared and mingled with the crowd, and there was an orgy where Hrafnir and Æsignís were currently ahead in erotic performances. I retired to my room and looked at a lecherous tome for any inspirations to add for tomorrow.

Lárus had the opportunity to meet me in my room. He showed me the bag in his right hand through the door. “Got the strap-on.”

I shut my book. “Thank you.” I ambulated to him and took the bag as he shut the door. I took the toy out and took a couple of minutes to figure out how to put it on. The back end was exposed like I wore a jockstrap as I admired my reflection, stroking my faux penis.

Lárus sat on my bed. “I gather you plan on fucking Róstran with it tomorrow.”

I tilted my physique to the side, still inspecting myself in the mirror. “Affirmative. Róstran expressed his desire and preference of having a penis in his anus and be ravaged by a male, so this should suffice until the real deal arrives.” I raised my eyebrows at him.

“You know how to wield it?”

“I just read one of the wanton books that had tips.” I turned around to face my twin brother, licking my chops while stroking my fake shaft. “Plus, I’ll gain experience by pegging you.”

He cleaned his left ear with a finger. “You want to do what?”

“Fuck your tail-hole with the strap-on.” I pressed the button that squirt the artificial spunk.

Lárus nodded slowly. “That’s what I thought.”

“It’s not like you’re taking a real penis from a male.”

He nodded some more, this time an iota faster. “True.”

I fondled my bosoms. “I’ll let you enact whatever you deeply desire to me tonight.”

Lárus immediately stood up and shook my hand. “Deal.”

“Good.” I narrowed my eyes and sneered at him, forcing him on his knees. “Get to work.”

Lárus sucked on my strap-on like it was Róstran’s phallus. This was a new level of dominance I was in. It outclassed me being a power bottom or being in a sex position where I where I was on top. I was the top. I did the penetrating rather than getting penetrated as much as I savored the latter. I replicated what he did to me whenever I fellated him such as caressing his head. He didn’t go far down my fake phallus, making it to the halfway point at most intermittently.

“Come on, brother. You can serve me better than that.” I held his head and thrust down his throat.

Lárus’s eyes and cheeks bulged out, and he frantically tapped my thighs and butt. He gasped once I pulled out. “Ahh! Don’t go that far!”

I flattened my ears in chagrin. “Sorry.”

Lárus coughed heavily a couple of times. “Being the top isn’t simply fucking your partner into a paste. Yeah, we’ve seen pairs, such as mom and dad and Hrafnir and Æsignís, go that rough, but they either were comfortable to begin with or spent time adapting to it and given each other plenty of warning. I could certainly use some warning.”

“I’ll keep that in mind., and sorry again. Do you still want me to practice being rough with you in preparation to fulfill Róstran’s desire?”

“I still find it weird how he can find pleasure in that despite what he endured.”

“Probably had the kink innately from birth, and there’s most likely a difference between unwilling with strangers and willing for loved ones.”

Lárus rubbed his chin. “I’ll let you practice on me, but let me decide when it’s time.”

“I will.”

My inamorato opened his jaw and sucked my artificial penis again. I waited for him to signal me to be barbaric. Regardless of permission or not, I relished having this much power and supplicated he would allow me to fuck him with a strap-on periodically in the future. I wished to possess an actual penis just to feel what sort of magic he produced with his mouth and the tightness of his throat. He looked up at me and winked, and I took it as the herald to go savage.

I prevented Lárus’s head from moving and perforated mouth like a vagina. My thrusts were phlegmatic, but they went deep inside his throat. He display no signs of discomfort, so I accelerated. The tears formed in his eyes again, so I slowed down though he grabbed my ass and propelled me forward.

I went as hard and fast I could force my hips to. Long, thick strings of drivel clung to Lárus’s lips and my fake dick. I vigorously bruised his lips, thinking of all the times he bruised mine and trying to mimic him. If only the toy had a ballsack attached to it. More tears flowed. His eyes were shut, and he had roseate cheeks.

“Faer, your mouth is such an amazing cocksleeve,” I huffed. My brother whimpered and wagged his tail, sticking two of his fingers in my anus. “Such an eager pup willing to serve me. Take a deep breath; your comeuppance will come right now.” I pulled way out of his mouth and gave him a few seconds to breathe, followed by the hardest slam I could muster. “Fucking take it!”

I squirted fake jizz down his throat and held his muzzle against my inguinal region. I held him in place, obstructing his breathing. His payment for entering my rectum last night while I was acclimating to Róstran’s pecker was him borderline suffocating on my cock, something that Róstran might be into. A minute went by without issue. The next minute had him showing subtle signs of suffocation. He looked at me like he knew what I had planned and trusted me. The following thirty seconds had him instinctively seek fresh air, but he wasn’t frantic yet. Twenty more second came before despondency kicked in. I counted to ten before letting him insufflate fresh air.

“You know,” Lárus wheezed, “that cum doesn’t taste that bad. It’s sweeter than my and Róstran’s semen.”

“Get ready, Lárus. You know what’s next.” I stroked my toy, licking my lips.

“I do.” Lárus lay flat on his belly, lifting his tail. “Have at it.”

I prepped my brother’s anus in the usual ways: fingering and rimming. I smacked it with my strap-on. “I’m so going to enjoy this.”

Lárus winced and yelped in pain when I went into his rectum. “Gah! Stop! Stop!.”

I stopped and pulled out. “Sorry. I guess I have a harder time feeling your rump with this toy.” A damn shame too. I would’ve loved to feel the constricted warmth of his taint.

“It’s alright. Let me get rid of the pain, and you can try again.”

I tried again when he told me to, and we encountered the same problem. It persisted several more times. “Something’s not right.”

“It must be a combination of my virgin pucker and you being unable to gauge my body through your fake prick.” Lárus gesticulated where the bag was with his thumb while he buried his physiognomy into the pillow. “Check the bag over there. I didn’t see what all came with the strap-on when I got it.”

I searched the bag and located a filled vial. “There’s a vial filled with a substance.” I opened it, receiving a fruity scent redolent of my bathroom items. I took a small dab of it, and my left hand became saponaceous quickly. “It’s fruity and makes my hand oily.”

“Add that to the dildo and go extra slow this time. I’ll try to relax more and let you know when you can advance.” Lárus lifted his tail again.

I pushed against his tail-hole and had a much easier time getting the tip inside thanks to the lube. I paused the second his sphincter capitulated, and he made no objections to me going in further. I thought I sensed a smidgen more tightness in his rectum though I relied on him the most. He told me to wait three times, the final one was when I hilted him. It was the most progress out of all the previous attempts, and I massaged his muscles.

“Fuck. This feels weird.” Lárus uttered, gripping the pillow tightly.

I rubbed as much of his chest as possible. “What, taking a phallus up your ass or having your twin sister inside you?”

“Technically giving up my anal virginity to my little sister.” He snickered afterward.

“Oh, you’re so in for it now, big brother.”

“Ok, you ca-an!”

I took that as a sign to go full force, almost mimicking the sound of ball-slapping sex on Lárus’s fundament. “What would Róstran say if he saw you being such a submissive bitch to me right now?”

“He would flood the room with his drool!” Lárus stammered. “Fucking Faer! You’re fucking me hard, and that’s without getting your tail yanked!” He sunk his teeth into the pillow.

I got my practice in for Róstran’s moment tomorrow as I plowed my consanguineous sibling’s posterior orifice with great vigor. The datum I was more of a top to him got me aroused to a point where only a handful of moments resided. My hormones became a sustainable source of fuel. My thrusts didn’t relent in any capacity. They only got more puissant if anything.

Lárus’s moans into the pillow got more stentorian. I witnessed his body melt like a biddable male though the alpha in him was strong. As much as I wanted to give him a break, I had to requite him from calling me his little sister Much to my dismay, he masked his obvious signs of any imminent climaxes.

I kept up the pace after I flipped Lárus onto his back. I caught his harbingers just as his orgasm arrived, so I swiftly held his penis tightly shut. It pulsated powerfully in my hands, trying so hard to ejaculate sperm. My grip remained steadfast even after his ephemeral euphoria deliquesced. He whined, no doubt yearning to cum and complete his climax. He was about to say something, but I immediately penetrated his anus while holding his shaft.

I edged him multitudinous times as revenge. I mixed in cooling off periods just before his orgasm and prohibiting ejaculations and shortening it when I allowed him to climax. His erection swelled and grew longer and formed prominent veins. His testicles grew heavy in his scrotum. I scooped up any tiny beads of precum coming out of his urethra with my tongue. He pleaded with his eyes, and it was not out of fear of damaging his asshole.

The edging grew more intense for my connate lover when I got him sitting upright on my lap. I hit the jackpot, his prostate. This played into my favor. Once again. I delayed his orgasms or drastically shortened them without any spunk escaping his genitalia several times while abusing his g-spot. I had my fingers inside his mouth and stretching his lips to shut him up. I kept it up until the hours to eleven at night. Then, I became merciful and let him ejaculate while I discharged fake batter in his rectum.

I blocked all of his cream with my hands, so the globs fell near us. My dominance wasn’t satiated just yet. I scooped up handful after handful and force-fed him his semen once his virile emissions faded to nonexistence. It ended once the last salty puddle disappeared.
“That was wonderful,” I uttered, guiding my enervated brother to the bed and lying on top of him like a knotted dyad.

“Glad you enjoyed it,” he responded exhaustingly. It was short-lived. I suddenly was on the bottom and saw his raging erect remained present and unaltered. I was met with his tail-hole on my maw, and my tongue tasted the artificially sweet cream extravasating from within his rectum. “My turn, now.”

We were exhausted once he released all the virility I trapped earlier. All I could think about was how to make Róstran’s day special in a few hours. The thoughts became a wild, nocturnal phantasmagoria.