Ridge Forrester The New World of SwapTech chapter 7 by deleted_user

The common room's stale air hung heavy, the TV's glow casting flickering shadows across the slumped forms of Hal and Marge. Vic gripped the remote, his arthritic fingers slick with sweat as he watched the on-screen debauchery unfold: Steffy/Hal grinding against Ridge's thigh, Brooke/Marge's hands roaming freely, the three of them a tangled mess of limbs and lust in the Forrester elevator. The moans through the speakers were raw, unfiltered—enough to make Vic's old heart stutter.

"No way I'm missing this," Vic muttered, voice thick. He aimed the TVT Remote at Ridge Forrester—tall, commanding, every inch the alpha male with his shirt ripped open and pants straining. Vic's thumb slammed the ACTIVATE button.

Whump.

Vic's body folded like a cheap lawn chair, joining his friends in slack-jawed limbo.

Inside the elevator, Ridge's world snapped into focus through Vic's consciousness. He felt it all at once: the surge of vitality, muscles coiling with effortless power, no creaks or aches, just pure, unadulterated strength. His new hands—large, calloused from fictional boardroom battles—flexed against the elevator wall. Heat throbbed low in his groin, Ridge's cock already rock-hard and insistent, pressing against the silk of his boxers like a promise. Vic glanced down: broad chest heaving, abs rippling under tanned skin, the bulge in his trousers obscene and commanding attention.

"Ladies," Vic growled in Ridge's gravelly baritone, the voice vibrating through his chest like thunder. He grabbed Brooke/Marge by the waist, pulling her close, feeling the soft give of her curves against his hardness. Steffy/Hal pressed in from the other side, her breath hot on his neck. Vic's mind raced—eighty-five years of faded memories colliding with this borrowed youth. This is what I missed? Power like this? He cupped Steffy/Hal's ass, squeezing, while his other hand tangled in Brooke/Marge's hair, yanking her in for a bruising kiss. Her lips were plush, tasting of lipstick and desire, her tongue eager.

The elevator dinged, doors sliding open to the empty executive floor. Vic didn't waste time—scooping both women up in Ridge's arms felt effortless, like lifting feathers. He carried them to his office, kicking the door shut with a bang. Dropping them on the massive desk, he ripped off his belt with a sharp crack, trousers dropping to reveal Ridge's impressive length—thick, veined, pulsing with need.

"On your knees," Vic commanded, voice dripping authority. Brooke/Marge sank down first, her red dress pooling around her, eyes locked on his as she wrapped her lips around him. The sensation hit Vic like a freight train: wet heat enveloping him, her tongue swirling, sucking with expert rhythm. Steffy/Hal joined, their mouths alternating, tongues tangling over his shaft, hands stroking what they couldn't swallow. Vic groaned, threading fingers through their hair, guiding the pace—thrusting deeper, reveling in the control, the way their moans vibrated through him.

Then Steffy/Hal stood, shoving papers aside and perching on the desk's edge, legs spread wide. "Now, Vic," he purred in Steffy's sultry tone. "Fuck me senseless."

Vic positioned himself, slamming home in one powerful thrust. Steffy/Hal arched, a high cry escaping those full lips. The tightness, the slick grip—it was overwhelming, Vic's hips snapping with a vigor he'd forgotten existed. Brooke/Marge climbed up, straddling Steffy/Hal's face, grinding down as Vic pounded away. The room echoed with flesh on flesh, gasps, the wet sounds of indulgence.

Three elderly minds lost in ecstasy: Vic dominating as the patriarch, every thrust a reclaiming of lost youth; Marge surrendering to Brooke's sensuality, her body a playground of curves and climaxes; Hal embracing Steffy's fire, every sensation amplified in that lithe, responsive form.

The remote lay abandoned in the common room, RETURN button untouched.