Fisting Fun

They kiss like they’ve been starving for each other. Tongues deep. Wet. Quick. Then Lilu pushes Nikky down, knees parting, mouth already slick with wanting. She licks first—slow, firm passes over swollen folds—before sealing her lips around Nikky’s clit and sucking. Nikky tastes salt and heat and nothing else. They trade places without words. Nikky buries her face, laps greedily, then slips two fingers inside and curls them. Lilu’s hips roll. When Nikky adds her tongue again, Lilu’s breath breaks. Now Nikky’s fist. She coats her hand, leans in, works the knuckles against Lilu’s opening until the body yields. Knuckles disappear. The wrist follows, slow, stretching the heat around her. Lilu shakes, caught between pain and want, then pushes down, taking more. Moans spill—quiet, throat-tight. Every thrust pulls a new sound from her. Lilu waits until she can breathe again. Then it’s Nikky’s turn. Lilu slicks her fingers, presses four against that smaller entrance. Twist, push, give. Nikky parts around the hand like silk under pressure. When the fist sinks in, Nikky’s back arches off the mattress. Her thighs tremble. Lilu watches her face twist, then softer, as pleasure overrides the stretch. Both of them stay locked like this, fists buried, breathing harsh, bodies pulsing around the intrusion. Pleasure runs through them in thick, lazy waves.