Teaching Lara

Lara talks like a dockworker, fucks like one too. Every other word out of her mouth is filthy, but the real story is between her legs—tight pink folds already glistening, swollen and giving way under steady pressure. She arches when three fingers sink in, sighs when four stretch her open, then grins like the devil when the thumb tucks and my whole fist disappears. Inside her it’s pure velvet heat, muscles pulsing, dragging me deeper with every slick roll of her hips.