Wondering About Wands

Amber sinks back against the pillows, fingers slick between her thighs. She’s taking her time, stroking the soft, small folds, circling the tender nub until a flush creeps up her chest. One knee bends, opening her wider, and the light catches on the wetness she’s already spread across her skin. Her breath grows short as she reaches for the wand beside her, switches it on, and presses the smooth head against that slick spot. The low buzz fills the room, and her hips lift, chasing the steady pulse that travels straight through her core. The door clicks open. Leana steps in, stops dead. She’s caught the full view—Amber spread open, vibrator trembling against her clit, nipples tight and dark against her pale skin. Leana’s apology tumbles out fast. She’s the girlfriend of Amber’s brother. Wrong room. Her gaze keeps flicking back to the wand despite herself. Amber pulls the toy away, cheeks burning, but she doesn’t cover up. Leana should leave. She turns to go, then pauses. That wand—does it really feel good? Amber’s answer is shaky, explicit: steady pressure, not too much movement, let the vibration sink in. Leana listens, eyes darker now. When she asks if she can try it, both women freeze. Here? Together? Leana offers excuses, says she just wants to know what it feels like, wouldn’t know how to hold it right without help. Amber hesitates, then nods. They agree it’s only sharing, nothing more, but the second the wand touches Leana’s skin that lie starts to thin. Leana’s breath catches. Amber watches the flush rise, feels the same heat coil lower, and both know nothing about either of them is going to stay the same.