Competing For His Creampie

Christy Love and Syren De Mer sit at the kitchen table, folders thick with medical bills and sperm bank receipts between them. Months of failure. Clinics. Refrigerated vials. Nothing. Syren’s jaw is tight, fingers tapping the formica. Christy’s eyes track a shadow moving past the hallway, and when Josh Rivers appears—twenty, shirt loose, headphones in—they look at each other without speaking. Decision made. Convincing him takes twenty minutes of sighs, one slow pour of whiskey, Syren’s hand on his thigh and Christy’s voice explaining just how much they need this. Josh nods like he’s agreeing to mow the lawn. Later the three of them lock the bedroom door. Josh stands there, hard already, while they argue in short, ugly bursts about who gets first crack. Christy grabs his cock and Syren snatches his wrist. They pull. Tug. Josh’s knees threaten to buckle. Christy shouts first, then stops, chest heaving. Both women freeze, realizing the absurdity. They trade a look, then start stripping. No turn-taking. Christy drops to her knees first, sucking him noisy and wet, saliva spilling. Syren moves behind, fingernails leaving red marks down his back, hips grinding on his thigh. When they push him onto the bed they trade places, greedy mouths, then spread legs, one cunt then the other sliding over his cock until he’s glazed with them both. No rubbers. No distance. The fight melts into rhythm. Josh holds Syren’s hips and fucks her deep, skin slapping, until she groans and rolls off. Christy climbs on reverse, taking every inch until she bottoms out, cunt swallowing him. Syren licks his balls, fingers Christy’s clit, keeps whispering “deeper, give it to her.” Christy leans forward, letting her tits swing against Syren’s mouth. Josh’s thrusts grow shorter, sharper. When he finally comes, the first pulse floods Christy’s cunt, thick and hot, but she pulls off halfway through. Syren shoves in, takes the rest of the load, riding until her own orgasm squeezes the last drops out of him. Cum leaks from both women, coating his shaft, the sheets ruined, breath ragged. They collapse together, sweaty and spent. The decision, the one that actually matters, now written inside them both.