Teaching Destiny

They hadn't filmed Destiny in years. Long enough for her body to close up again. Time to open her. Blue Angel had the hands for it—those elegant fingers pressing in, disappearing. Destiny took them slow at first, then wider, until Blue Angel's knuckles sank past the ring of muscle and her whole fist disappeared. Each thrust opened her more. The camera caught everything—the flush spreading down Destiny's thighs, the wet sound of Blue Angel's hand working deep inside her, the stretched shine of skin around the wrist. Short strokes gave way to full reach, knuckles dragging against the front wall, palm pressing firm. Destiny's breathing broke into gasps as her cunt swallowed the fist again and again, dripping down Blue Angel's forearm.