The Final Round

The harp player resumed, and the aspirants rose to meet her. Cassia felt the phallus slide out of her, feeling a deep sense of loss. Her cheeks were damp with her own secreted arousal and she found her legs trembling like a baby dear.

Cassia heard the scraping of stone as another chair was removed.

The trial continued.

Cassia was beyond aroused now. Almost painfully so. Her cock was fully erect, jutting out from her body, visibly throbbing as she walked. Her pussy was so slick that the excess trickled down her leg.

But she didn't touch herself. She didn't give in. She kept walking, kept fighting.

My will. My body. My choice.

The mantra became a rhythm, a heartbeat, a drumbeat marching in time with her footsteps.

The music went on longer this time. Longer than any other round before it. Cassia almost let herself be distracted when…

The music stopped.

Cassia had planned for this. She had watched the chairs, counted her steps, calculated the distance. The twelve-inch phallus stood on the chair to her left, thick and intimidating. She told herself she would avoid it. It was too much. Too long, too thick, too likely to defeat her when she needed to be quick.

But the bodies had shifted. The athletic looking futa cut her off, and Portia had hip-checked her. Now, the only empty chair was the one with the twelve-inch monster rising from its center.

Fuck.

Cassia lunged for it anyway, uncontested. Her hands gripped the chair's sides, and she lowered herself onto the wooden shaft with a **** groan.

Oh goddesses. It’s too much.

The head pressed against her dripping entrance, but the sheer girth and length of it was immense. She pushed down, taking perhaps six inches in her first attempt, and her body groaned in protest. Around the eighth, Cassia noticed that her stomach had visibly distended. Nine inches. Ten. She could feel the phallus stretching her whole being, something that made her world shake, and her eyes cross over.

"Seats are filling," Gold mask called out, unhelpfully.

Cassia shook herself from her daze and looked down at herself. She had stopped at ten inches. Her thighs trembled and she could feel herself grasp around the intruder, wanting more even as her mind screamed that she could not take more.

Cassia closed her eyes and pushed.

The phallus slid deeper, another inch and she felt something inside herself give. Pleasure lanced through her, sharp and bright and wonderful. She whimpered, her hands holding the chair in a **** grip.

Her pussy was clenching around the shaft, milking it. She could feel her own cock pressed outward by the cylindrical bulge of her stomach now.

Eleven inches. One more push.

Cassia's vision went white, her mouth opening in a silent scream. The phallus pressed against parts of her she hadn't even known existed. She could feel the shape of it inside her, could trace its length from her entrance to it's tip, and her body was vibrating now, teetering on the edge of something vast, and inevitable.

Twelve.

Cassia's ass met seat. The phallus was fully inside her, buried to the hilt, and she sat there gasping, her entire body vibrating like a plucked string.

"The second trial is complete. Four aspirants remain."

Cassia looked around the circle through the haze of her own pleasure-pain. Portia was seated, dripping with sweat, but grinning fiercely. The athletic futa was idly tweaking one of her own nipples through her shift while the other played with her cock. The last seated futa looked like they would have slipped off of their chair if they weren't impaled upon it.

And Antonia...

Cassia's breath caught.

Antonia was not seated.

She was on her knees beside Portia, her body bent over, her hands braced against the stone floor.