CHAPTER 175: CHAPTER 175: GENEVIEVE’S TURN (18 PLUS)

"You’re mine tonight. Sage who? She’d better accept that she has competition." Declared Ingrid.

Genevieve’s breath hitched from the floor, her fingers now buried between her thighs, circling her own swollen clit in time with Ingrid’s rides. But her fingers felt nothing like when Zaeryn was fingering her, and she could only imagine how much pleasure her lucky friend felt being fucked by him.

"Goddess Marea, look at her, take him... that cock stretching her so wide," she murmured, eyes glazed with lust. ’I need it next. I need to feel what she’s feeling, full, wrecked, claimed.’ She pinched her nipple harder, a soft whimper escaping as she watched Ingrid’s ass cheeks flex and ripple with every thrust.

Zaeryn groaned, the sound guttural and strained, his body a coiled spring under Ingrid’s control. "Ingrid... fuck, you’re killing me," he rasped, his voice thick with need. Her pussy squeezed him like a vice on her next upward lift, dragging along every vein and ridge of his shaft before she impaled herself again, the head of his cock kissing her cervix with a jolt that made stars explode behind her eyes.

"You’re the best Zaeryn. I’m yours now," she panted, slamming down harder, faster now, her rhythm turning punishing. Juices squirted lightly with each impact, splattering his abdomen.

Her body tensed, thighs quivering, and then it hit, her orgasm crashing like thunder, pussy convulsing in violent waves that gripped him so tight he saw white. She cried out, a sharp, keening wail, grinding through the bliss as her cum flooded around him, hot and slick.

Zaeryn’s control frayed at the edges, his hips twitching involuntarily.

She collapsed forward, trembling, but didn’t stop. She now moved with slow, teasing rolls now, prolonging her high while torturing him. "Oh, baby, that was the best feeling ever," she whispered against his ear, nipping the lobe. "Now... Genevieve, your turn to watch up close. But remember, I’m not done."

Genevieve crawled forward on all fours, her bare breasts swaying, eyes locked on where Zaeryn’s cock disappeared into Ingrid’s glistening folds. "Share him soon?" she begged, voice dripping with desperation.

Ingrid smirked, lifting just enough to let a thick string of their mixed arousal drip onto Zaeryn’s thigh. "After I make him explode inside me. Then... He can do anything he wants with you, I’ll even watch."

She sank back down, clenching hard. Zaeryn’s groan turned into a roar, his body arching as the pressure built unbearably. ’Goddess, if she keeps this up, I’m not lasting another minute,’ he thought, lost in the overwhelming grip of her dominance.

He couldn’t hold back. His control, stretched thin from a night of teasing and denial, finally snapped.

With a guttural growl that was all instinct, his hands shot from the sofa, clamping down on her hips like vices. He broke her rhythm, flipping their dynamic in a single, powerful surge.

"Zaeryn.....!" Ingrid cried out, her eyes flying open in shock as he thrust up, meeting her, driving himself deeper than she’d yet managed to take him.

He didn’t just thrust. He pulled her flush against him, his arms banding around her like steel, crushing her bare, pierced breasts against his chest. He stopped her frantic, dominant riding, holding her still, their bodies fused.

"Zaeryn... I..." she panted, her in control persona shattered, leaving her wide-eyed and vulnerable in his arms.

"Shh," he rasped, his voice thick. He leaned in, his lips brushing hers, not in a hungry kiss, but a desperate, claiming one. "Look at me, Ingrid."

Her stormy eyes, hazy with lust and confusion, met his. At that moment, the performance for Genevieve vanished. The room, the game, the dares, it all dissolved. There was only this. The connection, the heat, the overwhelming need.

He began to move.

It wasn’t the frantic, slapping rhythm she’d set. It was a slow, deep, intimate roll of his hips. A deliberate, claiming possession. Each thrust was a promise, sinking deep, stretching her, making her inner walls flutter and pulse around him.

Ingrid wasn’t a dominant rider anymore. She was just... his. Her nails dug into his shoulders, her head thrown back, a single, high-pitched keening sound escaping her throat with every slow, deliberate stroke. She was coming apart, and he was the one doing it.

Genevieve, on the floor, stopped touching herself. She just watched, her own breath catching. This was different. This was making it hard to control herself. She imagined pushing Ingrid off and jumping on the cock herself.

Zaeryn felt the pressure build, hot and sharp, coiling low in his gut. He could feel Ingrid’s own climax approaching, her inner muscles beginning to spasm, to milk him. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin, sweat, and something uniquely, intoxicatingly Ingrid.

"Ingrid..." he growled against her skin. "Get ready, I’m cumming."

He gave one final, powerful thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

It was simultaneous.

Ingrid screamed his name, her back arching off his chest, her body locking in a violent, shuddering orgasm. Her pussy convulsed around him in a relentless, ecstatic grip.

That final, tight clench shattered his control. With a guttural roar that echoed in the quiet lounge, Zaeryn poured his release into her, a hot, flooding rush, his entire body locked, trembling, lost in the overwhelming, intimate finality of the act.

He didn’t pull out. He just held her, his chest heaving, his body still buried deep inside her. He felt her own trembling aftershocks, her nails still embedded in his shoulders, her face hidden in his neck. He pressed a soft, non-sexual kiss to her temple, his body finally, blissfully, at ease.

From the floor, Genevieve let out a long, shaky breath, her entire body thrumming with sympathetic arousal. "Holy... shit," she whispered, her gaze fixed on the intimate tangle of limbs on the couch.

When Zaeryn’s grip on her finally relaxed, Ingrid remained on top of him, boneless and heavy, with him still buried deep inside her. A tell-tale trickle of his release, mixed with her own juices, escaped her pussy, tracing a hot, sticky path down her inner thigh and onto the couch cushion.

Genevieve crawled forward, her own bare breasts swaying, and sat on the edge of the couch next to them. "It’s my turn now, right?"

Ingrid, her face still buried in Zaeryn’s neck, just grunted. "Not yet."

"What do you mean not yet?" Genevieve’s voice was sharp, impatient. "Aren’t you satisfied?"

"Trust me, I am more than satisfied. I don’t even have enough strength to move after getting pounded so thoroughly," Ingrid murmured, her voice thick with pleasure. "But I want to stay in his arms a bit longer."

"No, there is no time for that," Genevieve retorted. She was fully awake now, the sight of their coupling having stoked her own fires anew. Her hand reached out, giving Ingrid’s bare, sweaty shoulder a small, impatient shove.

"Maybe we can cuddle after I’m done with Genevieve... the three of us," Zaeryn’s voice rumbled, intervening before the bickering could escalate. He slid his hands under Ingrid’s arms, gently lifting. "Come on, you need to move. I thought you wanted to watch,"

"Yes, I want to watch you destroy her, baby," Ingrid let out a boneless groan of protest, but she didn’t fight him. Zaeryn shifted, slowly rolling her off his lap and onto the plush couch cushions beside him.

The movement pulled him from her, the wet sound of his cock withdrawing from her pussy echoing in the quiet room. He looked down at her. She was completely undone, weak from the intense sex they had just had. Her eyes were hazy, lips swollen, her skin flushed. It looked like she needed a moment just to regain her energy.

Zaeryn was feeling pretty proud of himself, seeing her so thoroughly wrecked.

"Finally," Genevieve breathed, not wasting a single second. She was already moving, climbing onto the couch, her hot gaze locked on his still-slick, waiting dick. "My turn."

She reached out and touched it, her fingers wrapping around the base. "It’s smaller than when you were inside Ingrid, " she observed, a pout in her voice, though it was still impressively thick. "I guess I’ll have to make you aroused again," she purred. She leaned in and captured his mouth in a deep, wet kiss, her tongue tangling with his, tasting him, tasting Ingrid on him, a fact that seemed to excite her even more.

She pulled back, her eyes locked on his dick. Slowly, she lowered her head. Taking in the arousing scent of it. "I can’t believe you are real." she murmured.

She didn’t take him in yet. Instead, she just licked him, a long, slow, agonizingly wet stroke from base to tip, her tongue tracing the prominent vein.

Zaeryn hissed, his hips bucking. His smaller state was already a distant memory. He was rock-hard again in an instant.

Genevieve giggled, a low, throaty sound. She licked him again, lapping at the mix of his precum and Ingrid’s juices, her gaze flickering up to his face, watching him squirm. "You like that? You like me tasting you?" she whispered, her hot breath ghosting over his sensitive skin before she took just the very head into her mouth, sucking gently.

"Goddess, Genevieve..." he groaned, his hands fisting in the couch cushions.

"She’s such a tease," Ingrid’s voice slurred from the side. She had propped herself up on one elbow, watching them, her eyes heavy-lidded and possessive. However she wasn’t jealous, "Just take it all, Gen." She encouraged.

"I’ll take it when I’m ready," Genevieve shot back, not looking up. She finally opened her mouth wide, taking him in with a hot, wet slurp. It was nothing like Ingrid’s clumsy, enthusiastic attempt.

Genevieve felt a bit more skilled. Although, in all honesty she didn’t know exactly what she was doing. But she was trying, her tongue swirling, her throat muscles tightening, her head bobbing in a steady, practiced rhythm that was pure, exquisite torture.

Zaeryn was on the edge, his body tensing, the pleasure building too fast. With a low growl, he gripped her shoulders, pulling her head back.

"What?" she panted, her lips glistening, looking surprised.

"It’s my turn to be in control," he said. He stood up from the couch, his erection, slick and glistening, pointing right at her. Genevieve, still on her knees on the couch, looked up at him, her eyes wide and hungry.

"Turn around," he instructed. "And lean over the back of the sofa."

Genevieve’s eyes lit up. "Yes. Finally," she breathed. She scrambled, a little unsteadily, and did as she was told, bracing her hands on the high backrest of the plush sofa and presenting her bare ass to him.

"Like this?" she panted, looking over her shoulder, her gaze lewd and inviting.

Zaeryn stepped up behind her. He didn’t enter. Not yet. His hands slid around her waist, moving up her ribs, until they cupped her heavy, bare breasts from underneath. He squeezed, lifting them, his thumbs flicking her hard nipples.

"Fuck...!" she cried out, her ass bucking back reflexively.

That was all the invitation he needed. He aligned himself, the head of his cock pressing against her slick, waiting entrance. With one smooth, slow and gentle thrust, he sank into her from behind.

Genevieve screamed into the couch cushion, her voice muffled but ecstatic. The angle was different, deeper, stretching her in a way that made her toes curl. Zaeryn groaned, his body finally finding the friction it craved. He began to move, his hands still cupping her breasts, squeezing and pulling her nipples in time with his thrusts, his cock slapping against her ass with every deep stroke.