Teaching Betty Stylle

Chanel does not intend to be kind tonight. She told Betty to prepare, and she meant it. No mercy. No warm-up. Her fist intends to own that cunt the second she walks through the door. Betty gave it a real shot. She worked the thickest toy she could manage, sliding it in and out until she soaked the sheets. She tried to open herself up, to loosen every inch, so her greedy hole would take Chanel’s hand without complaint. The effort left her swollen and dripping, thighs sticky with her own juice. Still, it may not be enough. Her cunt might still fight, still clamp down when those fingers press inside. Chanel may need to stretch her further—slow or fast, it will not matter. The question stays the same: can that pussy take her completely, or will more brutal fingering be required?