Teaching Linda Ray

Kissy steps into the room like she’s late for an appointment with her favorite sin. On the couch already lies Linda Ray—naked, legs wide, wrist buried to the knuckles inside her own cunt. Her ring and pinky are tucked tight, three fingers pumping in a slow, squelching rhythm that slicks her from wrist to elbow. The wet sounds fill the quiet like dirty applause. Kissy sheds nothing. She simply takes over. One hand around Linda’s forearm, guiding the depth. The other spreading Linda wider, thumb stroking that swollen clit in firm circles. Linda jerks. Her abs clench; her mouth opens in a raw, helpless moan that turns into a drawn-out whine when Kissy pushes her hand deeper. Four fingers now—palm pressing, knuckles testing the ring of muscle. Linda’s thighs quiver, heels sliding uselessly on the cushions. Kissy leans in, her voice low against Linda’s ear. “Breathe and open.” She curls her fingers once, twice, knuckles twisting past the last tight inch until her entire hand disappears inside. Linda cries out, a sharp, bright sound that cracks at the end. The stretch burns, then blooms hot and sweet. Kissy’s wrist turns. A fist, full and thick, rides forward, pulls back, rides forward again in deep, rolling thrusts that make Linda’s belly jump with each inward press. Flesh glistens. Lube and girl-cum drip down the cleft of Linda’s ass. Her nipples are tight, dark, begging. Kissy’s free hand slides up her stomach, cups one breast, thumbs the stiff peak while the buried fist pulses inside. Linda shakes. Sweat slides down her ribs. Her voice keeps breaking—sharp gasps, wet curses, low pleading notes that end in breathless laughter when the pleasure crests again. The couch creaks beneath them, wet skin slapping, Linda’s cunt clutching greedily around the wrist that refuses to leave her empty.