Teaching Ladonna

Chanel doesn't need training anymore. She already knows how to read a pussy—how to move inside it like she belongs there. The last bits of hesitation are long gone. Now there's only hunger, and the certainty that she can make someone shake. Ladonna gets her tonight. She lies back, legs spread, cunt already wet and open, because Chanel has a reputation and Ladonna wants every inch of it put to good use. Two fingers sink in first, slow, deep, already thicker than most cocks. Ladonna moans when the third pushes through, the stretch rich, obscene. Then the fourth. The sound of lube and skin, steady and wet. Chanel folds her hand, tucks the thumb. The pressure builds until Ladonna gasps, until the cunt around her begins to yield, and Chanel's fist presses inside—knuckles, wrist, the hot tight grip closing around her like it never wants to let go. She twists, pushes deeper. Ladonna’s belly moves with every thrust. Her eyes flutter. Every time Chanel pulls back, the fist almost leaves, only to punch in again. She fists her slow, then hard, never careless. Ladonna takes it all. She comes once, quiet and shaking, then again, louder, cunt clenching and pulsing around the whole fist still buried inside her. Chanel doesn’t stop. She just smiles, keeps fucking her, working that cunt until it’s dripping down her wrist and the room smells like sweat and sex.