Dirty Blondes

Cayla and Nesty had that blond fantasy energy, naked and already breathing hard. They kissed in slow circles, tongues touching, lips parting. Then Nesty went lower and dragged her tongue along Cayla’s cunt while Cayla moaned into the pillow. She reached for the lube and worked it across her palm until it shone. The first finger slipped in easy, the second stretched her open, the third made her gasp. Cayla braced on all fours and pushed back, letting Nesty’s wrist disappear inch by inch. A sharp exhale escaped when the fourth digit slid past her knuckles and the thumb tucked tight. One steady thrust buried the whole hand. Cayla’s walls clenched around the knuckles and she came with a short, choked sound. Then Nesty wanted her turn. She offered her own slick palm. Cayla sucked on her thumb, tongued each digit, spat on the crest of the knuckles. Nesty went on her back, thighs open. Finger after finger breached her, wrist turning in shallow circles. When the hand sank past the ring of muscle Nesty’s eyes rolled back and the muscles of her stomach jerked once. They stayed connected like that, breathing each other’s air, the smooth flex of hidden muscle around sunk flesh.