Teaching Olga Cabaeva

Olga lounges in red lingerie on her couch, letting her mind wander to Kissy. The thought gets her wet fast. She parts her legs and rolls onto her side, knees drawn tight to her chest. One hand slides between her thighs and finds her slick folds. Her fingers circle, press, slip inside. She adds another, then another, until four digits push deep and her thumb tucks flush. With a slow twist she sinks the whole hand past the last knuckle, a wet pop as her knuckles vanish inside. She fucks herself in lazy, rolling thrusts, breath coming shorter each time. Her fist glistens. She rolls to her back, spreads wider, works herself harder until her cunt clutches and a low groan slips out. Kissy arrives and doesn’t bother with hello. She strips, kneels between Olga’s spread knees, and takes over. Two of her fingers slide alongside Olga’s still-buried fist; together they stretch her wider. Olga hisses, hips lifting. Kissy pushes further. Her wrist sinks in, then her knuckles. When she has her whole hand inside she starts a steady pumping motion that makes Olga’s belly quiver. Olga moans louder. They switch; Olga fists Kissy in the same deep, twisting rhythm, her forearm slick to the elbow. Both women writhe on the cushions, gasping, fists buried to the wrist, pushing each other over the edge until their screams echo off the walls.