We met the owner of the sex shop and his exotic wife for a fish meal and a toast with Lambrusco at an expensive restaurant on the boulevard that stretched about ten kilometers along the coast from the busy city center to the deserted and unsettling port area. He is deeply impressed by our performance and promises long-term sponsorship. Betty wanted to alert Icarus and Iris to join us, but the backpackers had no phone. We strolled along the waterfront, and at one point, when our colleagues were a couple of palm trees ahead, Betty slipped her long arm around my waist, pulling my body against hers.

"Relax, little guy, you're doing great. We're gonna win that contest."

"You're the best," she added, still with her kind cow eyes a little moist. I pulled my face close and let her stick her purple tongue down my pharynx.

"I guess now that we're dating, I can touch you anywhere I want, right?" he mumbled, a silver thread hanging from the corner of his mouth.

After making sure the sex-shop owner took charge of the astronomical bill, we said goodbye and strolled down the boulevard, kissing like schoolgirls out of school. We drank ice cream, coffee, and calvados until Betty herself found it convenient to move to the water. That night, we had round two. My cell phone rang. I answered and was about to improvise an apology, but the voice was not Luna's. It was a calm, friendly voice. It was a calm, friendly voice. It was Mandy.

"Hi, tough guy, did you think about my offer? I've already sent the cowboy packing. I'll be at the bistro across the street from the club one hour before the final."

"Uh, Mandy… Betty's a good woman, you know. Maybe her tits don't hang in the air as much as yours, but I've grown fond of her. She deserves to win this contest with me. Besides... it would probably be against the rules."

She sighed, but her calm voice didn’t change.

"Not at all. I've been talking to Bruno; they want an opponent for that Horny broad. Everything else is incidental."

"Incidental? I can't imagine you in the role of incidental, Mandy. You'd stoop that low to give me a shake?"

"You're a fucking asshole... I'll see you at the bistro. bzzzzzzzzz."

Before switching off, I memorized the number. You never know the twists and turns life takes, and I'd be hard-pressed to find another pair of tits like that.

  ……

The Grand Final format was different. They would take place on the club's stage, where the strippers usually danced, grazing the customers at the VIP tables just below as they contorted. The rival couples faced each other at the same time; no timers, each girl worked the boy of the rival couple, and the first one to spit was out. For this now the black armchair was joined by an identical but white one. They were arranged facing each other, so that the milkmaids had their backs to each other and the bulls could see each other's faces, while the audience could see the competitors from one side. In addition, two giant high-definition screens reflected in detail what was captured by two zenithal cameras.

In the second heat, there had been little competition. The winners had been a male stripper registered as Armando de Toro and his French mistress, supposedly named Candice Bordeaux. They were both so horny, gave off such sex appeal and seemed so in tune that they could probably cum just by staring at each other. Luckily, when Betty and I met them, we were both already under the effect of the scorching spotlights, the alcoholic drinks, Bruno's pills, and our strange outfits that, contrary to normal clothing, completely hid nondescript parts of our bodies, leaving only the most interesting ones uncovered.

I put on the Santa Barbara’s bathrobe with difficulty because of the injury on my fingers. In the end, I had slipped into the bistro and sat across from the girl with the best breasts in creation, whatever their origin. Despite her questionable taste in makeup, she knew how to dress to suit her type. I thought about asking the waiter to take a picture of us or to record the moment when that heavenly girl asked me to be her partner. But for some of those irrational impulses that drive human behavior, I couldn't betray the genuine affection that had developed between Betty and me.

Mandy had slid her hand under mine and was caressing my palm with her sculpted fingernail. She was breathing confidently, her chest rising and falling with the silver top hanging loosely. The space in her cleavage was just enough for her breasts not to clump together or squint away from each other but barely nuzzle like playful puppies engaging in mock combat.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I can't do that to Bet..." She squealed, and her hand strangled my fingers, making them snap inside her fist.

From the stage, the audience could barely be glimpsed, but murmurs of anticipation, nervous laughter, the gurgles of glasses being refilled, and the cascades of ice cubes clinking in the tube glasses could be heard. Finally, the ambient music was interrupted, and a microphone coupling introduced the master of ceremonies, Monsieur Bruno Mancini. Bruno thanked the collaborating entities for their support: Horny Ram Productions, Flagpole sex-shops - I thought I heard the howls of the owner's Brazilian wife and sensed his displeasure -, a well-known energy drink, a brand of intimate creams advertised on TV..., and finally he gave way to a member of the Bizarre TV staff, who explained the rules of the duel and introduced the contestants.

I ordered two soothing pills for my hand, downed them with a shot of Betty's whiskey, put my headphones on my ears and played Luna's playlist at full volume. With 'Eye of the Tiger' thundering over the music of my headphones, Armando and his imposing French girl made their appearance, clasped by the waist. They paraded exhibiting their forms, their muscles, their perfections that aroused all kinds of admiration from the spectators. One of the aristocratic strippers jumped on stage, wiggling her implants, delicately grabbed Armando's member, which even when semi-relaxed looked astonishing, and fastened a thick white retardant ring around it. He would ride the chair of that color.

Betty and I kissed in the dark, wishing each other luck, and jumped into the dazzling sea of spotlights as our tune began to play. I looked at Betty with an incredulous face; she had chosen 'Love Boat'... My stripper in a frontless tuxedo and mare's teeth and thighs worked me with two fingers until she reached the point of stiffness that allowed her to sheathe my black retardant ring.

While Armando and I straddled in our seats, Candice and Betty took oils and creams from the trays offered by the strippers and smeared them on their palms. The French girl sniffed each bottle with her snub nose until she selected the most aromatic. Betty grabbed the first one she was given and emptied half a bottle over her long, bony fingers.

"Don't worry, puppy, I'm going to grind the muscleman in front of all these people until he cries like a baby."

At this, my mare-toothed, diplodocus-size-boobed stripper came running in with my cell phone. Yes, you're right, the show was worthy of recording. I picked up the little phone, amazed that her tits were still attached to her chest. On the display flashed “Mandy.” I showed it to Betty, who winked a little exaggeratedly with the tip of her tongue showing. I don't think she knew Mandy intended to replace her, and I think if she had known, she would have reacted exactly the same way. If the Polack had been pissed off about not letting me win in front of his daughter, Mandy was my alternative for my dreamed mixed sandwich, so I decided to take it.

"Listen, Jimi, you're right. Your... partner deserves to win this contest. It'll be her five minutes of glory. Then you have to think Japan will be another story, another level. Those Asians squeeze like crazy. You'll need someone really good by your side..."

"Yeah, and that someone wouldn't be you?"

"Come on, Jimi, she's a good woman, it's not about that, it's about competing against professionals, it's about being the best."

"Mmmh, you know what we can do?" I murmured while Betty skillfully lifted my spirit. "We can meet at Betty's house and talk it over directly with her; between women, you understand each other better."

Betty applied a powerful twist that made my sensitive spots sizzle. I grabbed her wrist to force her to stop. She proudly contemplated the work of her hands that stood inches from her eyes, forcing them to squint. I began to think that Betty had reached a level that no longer had anything to envy from that of wonder girl, and perhaps they deserved a direct confrontation.

"Okay, I'll talk to her. Give me her number."

"Now I've got to cut. This is going to start right away. Call me in about an hour."

"Okay, good luck against the Frenchie. Bzzzzzzz…"

Meanwhile, Bruno programmed some sick high-definition images of the so-called Yokohama Pride on the giant screens, a biannual event considered the Tekoki Worlds. The Bizarre TV reporter, who had been there to tell the story, described it as the biggest and most spectacular perversion since Gomorrah. Close-ups of twisted faces and strangled limbs alternated with shots of girls in sportswear jogging through the city's brightly lit parks, and again with grim scenes of exhausted winners being proclaimed in the claustrophobic clubs where the events took place.

Referees with stopwatches around their necks, dressed like in boxing, would raise the arms of the winners, who would burst into tears while trying to cover their faces with fingers soaked in semen and stiff from the effort. The Santa Barbara and half a dozen other clubs were participating in a network that aimed to select the first couples of Westerners registered in the championship. We could make history.

One of the sassy, bare-chested aristocrats approached with a tray. Bruno poured two double whiskeys without ice and offered a glass to Betty, who held out a glittering hand without looking, busy watching on the screen as a petite Asian girl with slanted eyes like a theater mask and teeth as identical as grains of rice forced a sumo wrestler to quit after making him spit for the fourth time in three minutes.

"Drink, mate, and don't take it so seriously. Your boy is formidable, but Candice is the French freestyle champion. No male mammal can handle her manual treatment for more than 90 seconds. And tell your brave young man to be careful; I've seen her knock down a horse with her hands, back in the Medoc, in the stables of her family's chateau."

 Betty emptied the glass and returned it to Bruno.

 "My brave young man can hold out until that whore's fingers peel off. Gimme another one."

The Yokohama Pride trailer ended, and the image of the black and the white armchairs was suddenly visible on the screens. The expectant audience roared in unison. The girls took my bathrobe and helmets, and Armando and I sat facing each other, cock against cock. Even with the imposing expanse Betty had pulled out of me, I couldn’t compete with him in size, but that wasn't the point. I shielded my eyes with my hand to see the crowd, and I caught a glimpse of the backpackers with the Polish girl at one of the first tables. When they saw me, they waved and gestured encouragement. The pale, chubby girl blew a kiss on her white palm and opened it towards me like a big butterfly. She was just Betty's height, but fluffy instead of bony and milky instead of tan. Despite her angelic face, she could compete with her in chest endowment. It was the only thing they had in common. What would it be like to be in the middle...

 ….

Before I knew it, I had Candice Bordeaux, whose body could intimidate a lingerie model, kneeling between my legs, working me with her left, her good hand. She had me in an inverted grip with her thumb underneath, allowing her to wrap her palm around my ridge while her fingernails gently caressed the sensitive underside. My veins were swelling to the rhythm of her nails without my being able to help it. With each stroke, she would open her fist, achieving a suction effect that was superimposed with perfect timing on the pumping technique.

She was a monster; her skills were insane, and she knew it. She kept my cock pointed at her face, at just the right angle to achieve maximum tension without it becoming painful. On the contrary, a cramp of pleasure born at the insertion seared my pubis, tickling down my spine with each stroke. But the cramps were a mild tingle compared to the sheer excitation surging from my spine, prompted by her nail play. I bristled like a cat in heat, ready to tear apart a rival male twice as big, inflated like a pressure cooker, capable of beating the official flow record Betty had recorded for me with a few shot glasses.

"You are getting hot because you see that I can stand your massage," I blurted out to try to break her focus.

It was stupid of me. Candice looked up, dominated me with her elegant almond eyes, and smiled at me calmly and confidently. Mighty and seductive.

 "You'll die longing for this, look...”

She was sucking my will with those giant eyes, turned me into her puppet. She sent a breath of breeze through me with her fluttering eyelashes and twisted something inside my cock that melted my bone marrow. I was doomed. I stopped thinking about what she was doing to me because I was going to burst like a volcano.

Even if their encouragement did me little good, the Polish woman and the backpackers were in full force with me, howling support from the front row. I didn't know whether Candice's work made more of an impression on me or the sight of Armando, who, though sweaty, was stroking the roots of Betty's hair, coping with her energetic pumping.

Then, as in a drug-induced revelation, I became aware of what was happening. A creature born to fuck with eyes where an ocean liner could sink and a body that could melt a high-voltage power plant was going all out... and I was putting up with it! And Shae, a sort of demi-goddess in search of a male to match, was watching.

"You're surprised at my endurance, aren't you? Your muscle boy would have spit by now, wouldn't he? He's sweating a lot; I don't think he expected my girl to be so good. This isn't a beauty contest, you know?"

Candice looked at me, for the first time, surprised. I met her eyes with my best smile. The effort made her upper lip arch a little, exposing robust, slightly gapped incisors.

"Would you like to fuck me? I can take you as far as Armando, with his big cock of premature ejaculator, can't even imagine. Look at him sweating; old Betty is wiping the floor with him."

Without answering, Candice switched hands. Her pumping lost precision. She was squeezing a fraction too hard.

In the white armchair, Betty moistened the tip of her long middle finger with her free hand and slid it over the strip of skin hanging below Armando's scrotum. Before reaching the anus the man was cumming over Betty's lap. His semen dripped down her neck and seeped between her tight tits. She wouldn't let go.

Then I reacted in a way that would later become my trademark, but it came out naturally. I stopped holding back, got away from the beautiful Frenchie, and ran to the edge of the stage. Contracting my abdomen, I made my cock jump, and with each bounce it launched a powerful discharge into the sky, piercing through the beams of light and landing on the ecstatic audience, who were getting up from their chairs to try to touch the warm white rain.

The strippers swirled between my legs, passing me silk scarves as if they wanted to shine me, rubbing me with their own implants. They handed me a mic. I remembered Betty first and asked for a round of applause for her. The backpackers clapped furiously. The Polish girl, whose face has my intimate splashes, was sobbing. She climbed onto the stage and melted with us in an embrace. Betty wiped her cheeks with her knuckles and squeezed her in her lap. The sandwich was made.

Then I announced that I declined to accompany Shae to the championships in Japan. I already had the best milkmaid and the nicest woman in the world. Betty and the Polish woman disengaged; Betty pulled herself together and waved. I think she cried, too.

 My big-boobed mare arrived with my cell phone ringing.

 "Mandy, we've won!"

 Instantly, an icy shiver ran down my spine. I looked at the display. It was Luna.