Smooth Sailing Fisting

Lube makes everything glide. Christie's on her back, knees wide, letting Vicky work one arm in. Slick. Hot. Every inch disappearing, swallowed up to the elbow. Vicky moves with a slow, steady rhythm, fist turning, wrist twisting. The pressure builds, thick and relentless, until Christie's breath breaks into raw little moans. She feels split wide, taken, stuffed so full it's nearly unbearable. But it doesn't hurt. It just burns the right way. Vicky knows exactly how hard to push, how slow to go, holding her there. Christie thinks, if this is earning it, Vicky's already paid in full.