Fond of fisting

Peaches and Angel moved past fingers. Their bodies demanded more. Peaches worked her fist inside Angel, slow and steady, until the resistance gave way. Angel moaned deep, stretched wide around the knuckles sliding deeper. They switched. Angel pushed her own fist into Peaches, knuckles pressing past that tight ring, the wet sound filling the room. Both of them craved the pull, the ache, the way their bodies opened further than fingers ever could. They reached for toys next—thick, dark silicone plugs built to test limits. Angel slid one into Peaches first, watching the muscle yield, the hole clenching around the widest part before it swallowed the toy whole. Peaches did the same to Angel, working the heavy plug in, watching Angel’s thighs shake with each push. The plugs sat heavy inside them as they moved, every shift sending sparks through their guts, their holes greedy now, greedy for whatever came next.