Superbarbies

She grips the silicone cock in one hand, a smirk tugging at her lips. Barbie takes a breath and sinks the whole length down her throat. She knows what she looks like with her golden hair loose across bare shoulders and her eyes wet, mouth stretched. Not some clean plaything behind cellophane. She palms the plug next, turning the base to line the gloved knuckles. The woman on her back spreads her thighs wider, pink folds slick and open. Barbie twists her wrist until four fingers disappear, thumb sliding in with one long push. Their gasps clash. She works deeper, curling her hand inside until the knuckle catches and her fist blooms full in heat. A quiet, filthy sound fills the room, leather stretching against wet muscle. She watches every shake and swallow. Watches her own wrist sink an inch more. Barbie thrusts slow, deliberate, until the woman’s belly quivers and every cord along her arm stands out.