Plaything

Hannah opened the door in nothing but black silk. Pocahontas stepped inside, eyes bright with questions. Hannah led her straight to the bedroom without a word and slipped the silk from her shoulders. Pocahontas's breath hitched when she saw the thick strap-on resting on the bed—sleek, dark, gleaming with fresh lube. Hannah buckled the harness around her hips, adjusted the silicone shaft until it jutted forward, proud and heavy. Then she drew Pocahontas close, laid her back, and pushed the head slowly between slick folds. Pocahontas gasped as it stretched her, inch by inch. Hannah began a deep, steady rhythm, every thrust forcing a wet sound from between their bodies. The straps creaked; the bed rocked. Pocahontas dug her nails into Hannah's waist, hips lifting to take every stroke. Sweat slid down Hannah's spine. Pocahontas cried out again, voice higher, thighs shaking as the shaft hit the place that made everything go white. Hannah kept driving, relentless, filling her girl to the hilt with each delicious push, the room thick with the scent of sex and the sound of their breathing.