The Hung Games Pt. 05

(Hey all! Afraid this one is just a quickie without a "proper" sex scene to speak of, but for those who are curious the road Jasmine has taken so far, this is it. More to come soon! If you have questions or comments, click on my name, click on my contact-info, and e-mail me there from the profile page. I hope this tides you over until the next big thing!)

It was the day the final eight fighters would meet their last solo opponents. I stood just inside the stadium's archway, back to the wall. I'd used my whole night to recover, and I was lucky I'd fought a licking specialist the day before. The softer impact of a tongue had me feeling limber and ready, showered and fresh for anything. I didn't know what was going to meet me on the giant mattress out there, but whatever it was, I was going to fuck its brains out and walk away the winner, ass sashaying in triumph.

I reflected back on all the fights that had brought me to this moment.

There was the first fight. That sumptuous foot-long cock, the part where I learned that dirty-talk was my greatest shield against giving in no matter what was happening to me, the look of defeat on his face when I'd felt those balls tighten between my tits, the glorious thrill of knowing I really was worthy of being there, ready to take down anyone and anything that stood in my way.

Fight number two had been a sad cakewalk, really. The fuck-fighter in question was decently hung at ten inches, he did great finger work during the foreplay rounds and utilized it even better when I gave him the chance to eat my pussy.

But he had the fuck-fighting equivalent of no chin, a glass jaw, a knock-out neck. His hair trigger went off the first time when I easily throated him, again when I jacked him and gave his balls a world-class tongue bath, and though he rose to the occasion and fucked it into me a third time, my moans of pleasure, my giant tits dancing in his face, my dirty praise of his "Big fat cunt-killing meatbat, that throbbing thick cock that felt just so good splitting me in two, that gut-gouging beef-spear..." I'd gone on and on, and he'd gone off, howling in ecstasy as he blew his last small load across my belly. Easy-peasy.

Fight three was that weird threesome I mentioned before. I don't know if someone had to go home sick so they had to double up, if it was just a glitch in the sorting randomizer, or what, but I stood shoulder to shoulder with a flat-chested girl and we'd stared down an impressive eleven-inch stud together. He'd been good, honestly worthy of two girls and if she hadn't been an amazing twerk machine I don't know that we could have taken him. I softened him up with my tits, then she would use her ample-asscheeks and skilled gyrations to milk away at him in a lewd display of hot-dogging.

Together we'd sucked, titfucked, cunt-clenched and ass-fucked four big loads from him, sending him groaning from the mattress in defeat, then turned on each other as rules demanded. I won in the end, subduing her first by pinning her and using my tits to slap her around the same way some guys like to use their cocks.

When she was good and dazed from my bra-bombardment I ate her out for round after round, she couldn't bring herself to call a stop, and though it took me almost an hour, she too finally tapped out. It was a weird victory, but I felt I'd truly earned it.

Fight number four was unbelievably intense. The stud had a nine-incher that was as thick as my ankle, the only one I've ever seen rival Luke for girth, and he was built thick too, broad shoulders and beefy arms like prize-winning hogs coming off of his shoulders. He constantly rubbed his strength (and dick) (and balls!) in my face, flinging me around at every opportunity, highly specialized in standing-fucks of all kinds.

He challenged my throat, and though I was able to fit all of him I was hoarse for days afterwards. He challenged my pussy, and though I was walking a bit bowlegged the next day, I handled that well thanks to a lot of gushy orgasms. My ass, however, may never be the same, when he gaped me with that I came closer to tapping out than I ever have before. In the end it was only my tits that saved me, I allowed my right to demand he be hosed off and then I gave him the titjob of a lifetime, using his own girth against him to wrap around, keeping every inch of him encircled in hot, pliant titflesh.

That final round lasted a long time, and in it I was able to pull him off twice back-to-back with my huge hooters, milking his big second load out all over my face. Was I humiliating myself for him? Maybe a little, but fuck this bull-hung stud had earned it.

Fight number five was another lucky draw for me, the guy was a specialist in abusing tits and faces with his cock, and while he was big at twelve-and-a-half inches, I had been trained to stand up to bigger for longer. I threw him off by moving my tits a lot, always giving him new surface to smack so that nothing stayed tenderized enough for me to want to give in. He definitely wasn't ready for me to be able to throat him all the way and you could really see the panic in his eyes when I lewdly stretched my lower lip and fit both his balls in my mouth too, he'd bucked and fucked into my head hoping it would somehow discourage me, but I had him emptied of ball-sauce by the time the round was called. I gave him a heavy double-titslap before I let him crawl away from me defeated.

That's what you get, bitch.

Fight six was another drawn out battle. The stud in question had unbelievable endurance. No one else in the contest had made him cum, even once, and he seemed to take pride in walking away from every fight still erect. I assessed him early by using my oral round to suck his nuts, using my tongue and probing mouth to analyze the tennis-ball sized spheres for signs of weakness.

He definitely wasn't masturbating between fights, the damn things were so full (and probably blue) that I could hear them slosh with his juicy load. He railed and impaled me for two solid hours with his ten-and-a-half-inch cock, I interrupted him long enough to make him eat me out for a bit in between (which he was great at) and then tried my hand at rimming him out to see if I could make his load finally unleash by attacking his most secret spot, but to no avail.

In the end it was the dirty smack-talk that saved me. It served the usual purpose of distracting me from the overwhelming sensation of his masterful fucking, but was also the thing that I think finally tipped him over the edge. He was putting me through my something hundredth climax, fucking me in good rhythm with those big balls swatting my ass when I told him to

"Never stop! I want you to bang me with that huge dick until your cock bangs into my tonsils! I've never been turned into such a worthless big-tittied fucksleeve for anyone before, you've made me your bitch, your whore, your cum-sock, your jizz-jar, you've permanently broken my cunt into the shape of your cock. You're the biggest fucking stud the world has ever seen, you're the ultimate sexual warrior, the biggest-balled ox-dicked stud to ever beat up my pussy, the fucking stallion who will kill the earth with his dick, you donkey-nutted fat-cocked spunk-filled-"

I think it was much to my shock as his that this was put him over the edge. Then he came! The boy came and came and came, overfilling my throbbing, sore pussy in seconds, spewing and spewing out... he pulled out looking almost as horrified as he did aroused, his big dick bucking like a shotgun as it fired shots into the air that rained down over my body, covering me in spunk that almost hissed from all the heat of it, he couldn't bring himself to really aim but that didn't stop him from utterly drowning my left tit in fuck sauce, or from leaving an almost zorro-like 'z' across my flat stomach, and he unloaded what felt like a wagon-load all over my face.

I tasted a little, and the flavor was indeed as rich as you'd expect from such a long buildup. He also managed to paint his own chest and even nailed himself in the chin with a big glob. Then he started to sob, the mystique of his long orgasmless streak was over and now there was no way he'd get it up again. The fight was mine. I didn't taunt him like I did the others, only put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder and shook his with other.

The solemn nature of the sportswomanlike moment was probably a bit tainted by the fact I could only look at him through the eye that wasn't completely caked in his cum, but he still seemed to appreciate it. He wished me well before we'd parted ways.

Fight seven was fascinating. The guy had a nice fat nine incher that he wielded with expertise and bravado, his confidence was a bit like Luke's. He had some of the biggest balls I've ever seen, almost as big as Luke or Joseph, but not quite in their league, still very big and his sack hung like a christmas stocking for all the length of it.

What made him special was his seemingly bottomless appetite for orgasm. I got him off once in the oral round and as I swallowed the thick white load thought that I was in for another easy time, but he fucked himself to two more climaxes in the rounds that followed. I angrily brought him off a fourth time with a handjob that painted spunk all over my tits. I throated him for the chance to gargle a gusher in his fifth. I was a bit stunned when came a sixth time railing me doggy style, and a seventh in a standing bounce-fuck. Relying on my biggest guns I milked another two loads out of him with my tits, but nine didn't seem to stop his behemoth balls, and soon he was selfishly railing me with a gagging face-fuck another round.

You can't imagine what bravado it takes to waste an orgasm on selfish pleasure that late in the competition, but he kept right on going. I was starting to think of tapping out when he planted another two big loads in my cunt, once while I tried to break it off inside me in reverse cowgirl, and again while he scizor-leggedly pile-drived down into me.

Finally I gave up my ass to him, a position he chose to extend again and again, bursting me full with fourteenth fifteenth and sixteenth orgasms. There was so much of his cum on the bed at this point if I'd tried to sleep in it there was no way to avoid all the wet spots.

He cussed me out, taunted me, told me that all cumming did was make him want to cum more, and I believed him. We took a hose-off break and started fresh. His biggest failing as a competitor was that he simply wasn't rocking my world. I was impressed, but there was no way he was going to wear me out or send me into la petit mort. It's probably the on;y time my being such a size-queen really saved me, I'm sure if he was even packing a couple of inches more I'd have been begging him for freedom.

Instead, I doubled-down and sucked his balls deep, jacking him off while I worked those relentless fuckers in my throat. He fountained out another climax, buried himself in my cunt for yet two more, and this was finally the beginning of his end. He came out-semi hard instead of all the way up.

He got it up again and I slorked him right into my throat for another hard-fought cum-snack and this time he got all the way soft. STILL he managed to work it up for another go 'round, slapping at me angrily with his dick before trying to subdue me in the prone-bone position, my belly flat to the bed while he sawed in and out of me, trying to make my clit break me since my G-spot was still clearly good to go.

When it was my turn to call I kept position and just ground back against him, letting my thirsty cunt drink yet another potent load. What was this, his twentieth? I'd lost count, but that was it. He was soft at withdrawal and despite his best efforts to use my face and tits to get it up again, he finally relented. My parting shot to him was crude, I frigged myself until I was holding a palm-full of our mixed juices and smeared it right in his face. "You like cum so much? Hope you're tasting that for a year, asshole!"

Fight eight was even more intriguing. He was a black stud known on circuit as "slo-mo". The reason for this name was obvious early on. The boy took his time, invoking no less than three separate foreplay rounds in which he just worshiped my body over and over. His erection was raging but he ignored it and just kept right on showing me what he wanted for pleasure. I used an oral round to suck his cock and he just let it happen, coaxing me along in his wonderful deep voice to show proper respect for his nearly foot-long cock, fondly stroking my hair and face.

He didn't facefuck or try to take control of the situation, just let me work and held out. Then he invoked round-after-round of oral, not greedily getting me off the way the cunning-linguist would later, just sucking and worshipping at my clit and labia, only occasionally slipping his tongue inside to taste my deeper folds. I almost didn't want it to end, but finally took the initiative into sex. I made the mistake of letting him top me even though it was my choice, I thought it throw his game off, but he was more than ready for it, just deep-stroking me slowly with his dick, plumbing too my deepest depths, pulling out, going back in. I came a few times, sure, but it was all so measured and controlled and slow it bucked my multi-orgasmic expectations.

The bitch of it was that by the time we'd been at it for a few hours and I'd come just a dozen times or so, I was the one jonesing for more. Like some kind of sexual ju-jiutsu master he'd turned my momentum against me, sitting back with a smug smile as I made the choice to ride him, power-bouncing on his cock, slapping his face with my tits, kegeling his rod hard enough to tug it, but all it ended up doing was making me feel like a horny schoolgirl who wanted to get herself off, which at this point is basically what he'd reduced me to. He took another round to deep-doggy style me, pinning my wrists as he slowed the action again, forcing me to cry out,

"Fuck me goddamnit! FUCK ME HARD! I FUCKING NEED IT! I'LL FUCKING DO ANYTHING IF YOU JUST GIVE ME YOUR GODDAMN DICK PROPERLY!"

He just leaned down in my ear and whispered in that bass rumble, "Tap...out...then you'll see just what I can do."

I almost did. Oh god I even put my hand up to do it, but I was saved by the bell, the ref intervening to give me my choice. Oral. I wasn't playing around this time, I angrily sucked, jacked and titwanked him off, dancing between different variations on the three techniques faster and faster, I couldn't give him the chance to work me over for another intercourse round, he was a master of the tease and I had been teased to the breaking point.

Luckily the randomizer gave me a very long round to work with and my gambit paid off, he finally fired his one and only load as I took his whole monster in my throat, swallowed on it, and swaddled his balls in my slobbery tits. I savored the hard-earned load as it slid into my gullet and then stood.

"I know you like to humiliate your conquered opponents with a little display afterwards," he said, true to my signature finishing moves, but I just shook my head. Call me I silently mouthed putting my hand as a mimed telephone to my ear. He laughed his ass off and winked, nodding before he swaggered out. I really hope he does. What a stud!

The ninth fight was the toughest yet, but sadly not that interesting to write about. He was just all around one of the best fuck-fighters I've ever had the pleasure of taking. His dick was a fat thirteen-incher, his style was rhythmic, strong, and relied on timing his strokes just perfectly. He came a few times in my throat, between my tits and in my cunt, he got me off about a bajillion times, but nothing really stood out about what he could do, he was just damned good at all of it.

I learned a thing or two from him about when to time my kegals, to work up to a deep-throat instead of instantly taking all of it, and to never forget those big suckable balls most fuck-fighters are bringing to the table, but sometimes the complete package is just the complete package. To simultaneously humiliate and reward him when I'd taken him out I frigged myself to a squirting climax, hosing down his face with a fem-facial he never saw coming. He grinned despite himself, blushing at my assertion of dominance. He'd strutted into the arena a self-assured big-dicked man, and left it a marked territory.

We started this story on my tenth fight with the doggy-style specialist, so you know how that goes, and my narrow escape from the cunning-linguist had only been yesterday. The road to this moment had been insane and I had no idea what I was in for when I got through that arch, but it was time to do it, time to face the light and earn my spot in the final grand melee with the other three champs. I strutted my big tits into the open air and closed my eyes for a moment, just losing myself in the roar of the crowd.