Teaching Monique and Meretrix

Izabella trades schoolbooks for fists. Last week’s eager pupil is now teaching. Together we spread the lessons wide. Monique and Meretrix are already grinning, friends who decided the more the wetter. Monique drops onto her back, legs opening. Meretrix climbs between them, slicking her wrist with fresh lube. Four fingers slip past swollen lips, then her thumb tucks in. Monique’s cunt swallows the whole hand in one greedy pulse, lips clasping the wrist like it was meant to live there. Meretrix twists, knuckles glide across ridged walls. She leans forward and pushes deeper until their stomachs nearly touch. A ripple runs up Monique’s belly; a moan tumbles free. Meretrix laughs softly and draws back, fist slow-glistening, before sinking home again with a harder shove. Moisture runs down the curve of Monique’s ass. Meretrix works the motion; the wet sound of a well-filled cunt snaps with each thrust. She angles higher, stroking the same pressure spot that makes Monique flutter around her fist. When the shiver starts again, Meretrix buries her hand to the very bone of her wrist and just holds. Monique comes undone in short, shaking spasms, cream coating knuckles that refuse to retreat. Minutes later roles flip, Meretrix on the mattress, pink and dripping, offering herself the same way. By the time we finish, neither cunt has forgotten a single inch.