You try barking. He laughs, but returns to succing. 
You talk about how mighty his balls are, but he ignores it. 
In a last bid to protect your slut status, you use your secret technique.
 
You power bottom him.
 
You wiggle your tail, distracting him, and slide under his belly, mouth open. 
It’s an explosion of power, a thermal expansion, a escape of pure energy that escapes you when you unleash your full slutomantic power.
 
He has no chance. It’s only a few seconds before his seed fills your whole being, escaping your nostrils.
 
You have achieved full control of your slutness. 
You can sex reality into whatever you want.
 
In a flash of inspiration, you go into the astral plane to delete a singular object from reality. 
With The Grand Rugby Ball gone, all other rugby balls will quickly follow suit. 
You throw a beam of succ at it.
 
You miss.
 
The ball flies at you at probabilistic speeds in retaliation, its aura shinning crimson.
 
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