Dripping Wet Fisting

Canela and Hannah sit facing each other, bare legs locked, mouths locked even tighter. Their tongues move slow at first, soft strokes that part the pink folds and taste the heat between them. Every wet lick draws a low sound from the other throat. Hannah presses closer, hips rolling, voice rough. She needs more. Canela meets the demand. A squirt of lube across her knuckles and the slick sound of skin on skin follows. Canela works four fingers in, twists at the knuckle, then tucks the thumb under. One deliberate push and her whole hand sinks deep, fingers curling inside the velvet grip. Hannah shudders, slick spilling down Canela’s wrist. The fist slides back, then forward again, thick and deliberate, drawing louder gasps each time it disappears.