Chapter 929: It’s my turn! (R-18)

Nivara was still breathing heavily when Vergil slid his hands around her waist. With a fluid, powerful motion, he lifted her a few inches—just enough to adjust his position. Yamato, her face still damp, watched with hypnotic fixation as Vergil opened his silk robe. His member was already fully erect, imposing and veined, pulsing with the same controlled intensity as its bearer.

"Watch closely, Yamato," said Crymsaria, her voice an instructive, intimate whisper beside the sword’s ear. "He is about to penetrate her. It is the most basic act, the most primal union."

Vergil positioned the head of his member against Nivara’s still-pulsing, drenched entrance. He didn’t push her down; instead, with his hands firm on her thighs, he lifted her legs from behind, bending her forward so that her back arched slightly against his chest. Her legs parted, extending outward with knees bent and feet resting on the bed.

"He is in total control," Crymsaria continued, her eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. "She is open to him, completely vulnerable. He could simply thrust hard, but look... he is being methodical."

Vergil was, in fact, being deliberately slow. He rubbed the head of his member against Nivara’s lower lips—already sensitive and swollen—gathering the moisture and spreading it along his own length. Nivara moaned—a mix of frustration and anticipation—and her fingers dug into her own thighs.

"Please, Vergil... don’t make me wait any longer..."

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, with a controlled downward movement of his hips and an upward lift of his hands beneath her thighs, he guided her down onto himself. The penetration was slow, inexorable. The head of his member stretched open Nivara’s entrance—already relaxed and slick from her orgasm, yet still tight. He paused for a moment, allowing her to adjust, letting the burning sensation of stretching subside.

Yamato could see every inch disappearing inside Nivara. She watched how Nivara’s lips molded around his thickness, how her body shuddered at the intrusion. It was a visceral sight, intimate in an almost violent way.

"He is inside her now," Crymsaria whispered, as if commenting on the weather. "Channeling power, exchanging energy. It is more than just pleasure, little sword. It is an assertion of dominance, of possession."

Vergil began to move. He wasn’t thrusting up and down; in this position—with Nivara leaning back against him, her legs spread and held aloft by his hands—it was his hips doing the work. Each thrust was a deep, controlled upward movement, filling Nivara completely. The sound was wet, obscene, and Nivara’s moans became a continuous, hoarse mantra.

"Ah... ah, God... Vergil! More... just like that..."

Nivara’s hands, which had been clutching her own legs, now flew backward. She slid them beneath Vergil’s arms, tucking them into his armpits—exactly as the position dictated. This gave her leverage, allowing her to press back against him and meet his movements. She was no longer passive; she moved with him, controlling the depth with the strength of her arms and the angle of her hips.

"See how she collaborates," Crymsaria noted. "She surrenders, yet she also demands. It is a dance."

The dance intensified. Vergil’s rhythm quickened, his thrusts becoming firmer, faster. The sound of skin against skin filled the room—a wet, rhythmic applause accompanying their union. Nivara threw her head back, exposing her neck, and her moans turned into muffled cries with every deep thrust.

Yamato could no longer form coherent thoughts. She was flooded with sensations: the sight of her master—usually so composed—surrendering to physical pleasure; the sound of their bodies colliding; the pungent scent of sex and sweat in the air; and, most confusing of all, her own body’s treacherous response. That strange heat in her lower belly had deepened into a throbbing pulse, and the wetness between her legs was undeniable. She was feeling... things. Desires for which she had no words.

Vergil shifted the angle slightly, and Nivara cried out, her eyes widening.

"There! There—please, don’t stop!"

He had found a spot inside her that made her entire body shudder. His movements became more focused, more brutal in their efficiency. Crymsaria watched with a satisfied smile, her hand resting casually on Yamato’s shoulder, as if introducing her to a new art form.

"She’s getting close again," Crymsaria explained calmly. "This time, with him inside her. It will be different. More intense. She’ll feel every pulse of him as he fills her."

Nivara was losing control. Her fingers dug into Vergil’s back through his robe; her breathing came in short, ragged gasps. She writhed, trying to draw him even deeper, but Vergil maintained control, dictating the pace, the depth—everything.

With a muffled roar, Vergil buried himself fully inside her and held his position, his body taut. Nivara screamed—a long, raw sound—and her insides pulsed violently around him, clenching and releasing in spasmodic waves. She was experiencing an intense, visceral orgasm, driven by the deep penetration and that precise point of stimulation.

Vergil held her steady through the convulsions, his own muscles trembling with the effort of remaining still. Then, as her spasms began to subside, he started moving again—slower now, prolonging the sensations.

Yamato saw the expression on Vergil’s face shift. Absolute concentration gave way to something darker, more primal. His silver eyes were fixed on some distant point, his lips parted. He was nearing his own limit.

"He’s going to come inside her," Crymsaria whispered, a note of reverence in her voice now. "Marking her, claiming her. It is the climax of the lesson."

With a few final, deep, and deliberate movements, Vergil stopped. His body arched, his head thrown back against the headboard, and a hoarse, guttural groan escaped his lips. Yamato could see the muscles in his arms and abdomen tensing; she could almost feel the surge of energy.

He remained like that for several seconds, fused with Nivara, both trembling with the aftershocks of orgasm. Gradually, the tension drained from their bodies. Vergil released Nivara’s legs—which fell heavily onto the bed—and wrapped his arms around her in a loose embrace, still buried deep inside her.

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with the scent of sex and the echoes of their moans. Nivara lay limp against him, gasping for breath, her hair plastered to her sweat-slicked face. Vergil breathed deeply, his eyes closed.

Crymsaria finally turned to Yamato, who remained frozen, her mind a storm of conflicting emotions and sensations.

"And there you have it," Crymsaria said, her smile returning—broad and defiant. "A practical lesson in human anatomy and reproduction: complete. Any questions, darling?"

Crymsaria studied Yamato for a moment; the human sword’s glazed eyes and ragged breathing spoke more clearly than any words could.

"Nothing to say? Fair enough," she said, shrugging with an air of pragmatic indifference. "Theory is important, but practice is what cements the knowledge."

While Vergil lay there catching his breath, with Nivara slumped half-unconscious against his chest, Crymsaria acted with brutal efficiency. She grabbed Nivara’s arm and yanked her away from Vergil. The half-demon still shuddered from the lingering traces of her orgasm and collapsed onto her side on the bed with a soft, protesting moan, though she was far too exhausted to resist.

Without wasting a moment, Crymsaria turned toward Vergil. His gaze was heavy and satisfied, yet still alert. He watched as she stood beside the bed and began to shed her lingerie. Her movements held no theatrical seduction, only direct purpose. She unclasped her sheer bra and let it drop to the floor, followed by her panties, which slid down her legs. Her nakedness was revealed without ceremony: full, firm breasts, a narrow waist, wide hips, and—between her legs—a thicket of dark hair that contrasted sharply with her pale skin.

"Her turn is over," Crymsaria announced, placing one knee on the bed. "Now it’s mine. And my pussy," she continued, running her palm along her own hip, "has been on fire for the last half-hour just from watching."

She didn’t wait for an invitation. She climbed onto the bed and positioned herself over Vergil, who was already recovering; his member was semi-erect again, glistening with the mingled fluids of his and Nivara’s encounter. Crymsaria didn’t care about that. She knelt over him, holding his base with one hand while guiding herself down with the other.

Yamato, still sitting at the edge of the bed, seemed unable to look away. Her brain was trying to process the raw nature of it, the total lack of inhibition. Crymsaria wasn’t putting on a performance; she was simply taking what she wanted.

With a firm movement, Crymsaria sat down, taking Vergil inside her all at once. She didn’t moan like Nivara; she let out a deep, satisfied sigh, like someone finally quenching a long-standing thirst. Her eyes closed for a second, then snapped open, glowing with fierce intensity.

"Ah, that’s it," she murmured, beginning to move with a powerful, determined rhythm. Her hips rose and fell with a force that made the bed creak, her whole body engaged in the motion. "After so long just watching... finally."

She needed no instruction, no guidance. She was a force of nature in her own right, riding Vergil with a hunger that bordered on violent. One hand gripped her own thigh, fingers digging into the flesh, while the other moved to her clitoris, massaging it in rapid, brutal circles in sync with her thrusts.

Vergil, for his part, seemed invigorated by her raw energy. His hands rose to grip her hips—not to guide her, but to match the rhythm, helping her drive down harder. His face held an expression of intense concentration, his eyes fixed on her body moving above him.

"See that, little sword?" Crymsaria cried out between short gasps, her eyes darting toward Yamato for an instant. The human sword was pale, yet her eyes were dark and dilated. "That’s how it’s done! No frills, no beating around the bush! You want something, you take it!"

She picked up the pace, her buttocks slapping against Vergil’s thighs with a sharp, repetitive sound of impact. Her moans weren’t melodious like Nivara’s; they were guttural and hoarse—more like grunts born of exertion and primal pleasure.

"You... you’re so tight, Crymsaria," Vergil growled, his voice strained.

"That’s because I want you, you idiot!" she shot back, throwing her head back. "All this time! Every time you used that cock on that bitch... I was right here, watching, burning up!"

Her confession, shouted in the heat of the act, seemed to unleash something within her. Her movements grew even more frenzied, more uncontrolled. She lost her rhythm, seeking only friction, depth, and relief from the very fire she had described.

Vergil met her halfway; his hips rose from the mattress to greet her with every downward thrust, driving himself even deeper inside her. The combination of his strength and her fury created a chaotic, overwhelming rhythm.

Yamato watched, and something within her began to respond differently. The initial shock was transforming into something hotter, more urgent. The sight of Crymsaria—so powerful, so dominant even in her active submission—ignited a spark of recognition. Yamato was a weapon, an extension of Vergil’s will. To see another entity, so strong, using her master for her own pleasure... it was revolutionary.

With a stifled cry that sounded more like a roar, Crymsaria reached her climax. Her body locked up, arching in an almost painful way, and then began to tremble violently—a series of intense spasms that caused her to pitch forward, bracing herself on her hands beside Vergil’s head. She let out a long, low moan as the waves washed over her.

Vergil didn’t wait for her to finish. While she was still trembling, he rolled over, reversing their positions in one fluid motion. Now he was on top—still inside her—and began to move with relentless, decisive force. Exhausted and hypersensitive, Crymsaria cried out, her fingers digging into the sheets.

Yamato saw the look on Vergil’s face—a mask of pure conquest—before he buried his face in the crook of Crymsaria’s neck and let out a muffled groan of his own, his body shuddering with the finality of his climax.

The silence that followed was even deeper than before, broken only by the sound of ragged breathing from the three bodies on the bed. Nivara lay semi-conscious to one side. Crymsaria, beneath Vergil, looked utterly spent; her eyes were closed, and a soft, satisfied smile played upon her lips.

Vergil propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at her, before his silver eyes shifted to Yamato. The sword—still clad in her disheveled robe—stood frozen, her world turned upside down in a single night.

"And now," Vergil said, his voice slightly hoarse but already regaining its usual composure, "do you want to try, Yamato?"