Fisting Friends

Nesty had studied Sarah's mouth for years without ever tasting it. Tonight Sarah quit pretending and claimed it. She pinned her best friend to the linen, peeled the dress down like unwrapping a secret, and slid between spread thighs. Their tongues moved greedily, learning shapes and angles until both girls were panting into each other. When Sarah finally turned around, Nesty answered with her own open mouth on the slick heat waiting above her. They rocked in that noisy rhythm—wet lips sucking, hips lifting—until Sarah pulled back, watched Nesty’s cunt glisten, and eased two slick fingers inside. She worked slowly, then added a third, stretching, turning her wrist. Nesty whimpered but her legs fell wider, hips rolling for more. Sarah curled all four fingers, tucked her thumb, and sank the whole hand in with a wet sound. Nesty’s cry broke into a long moan. She clutched the sheets, nodding, back arching, every muscle giving ground. Sarah pressed deeper, past each shuddering grip, the heel of her hand flush against swollen lips. Nesty took it all and came hard around the intrusion, sobbing her friend’s name like gratitude. What are friends for.