Teaching Yiki

Yiki’s stick-thin frame raises an obvious question. Today it gets answered. Betty Stylle spreads her open, working slick fingers past every tight ring until the knuckles finally slip inside. Yiki’s cunt stretches around the whole fist in slow, wet pulses, the pink skin straining, glistening. Every inch disappears, then reappears, coated. Betty twists her wrist, opens her fingers wide, and Yiki bucks, lips parting on a cracked moan. Deep, rhythmic pushes, skin sliding, obscene noises filling the quiet. Yiki takes it all, sweat gathering on her ribs, thighs trembling. Betty keeps driving in, forearm glistening to the wrist, every thrust showing just how much that slender body can swallow. By the end, Yiki lies wrecked and smiling, her cunt red, slick, still fluttering around the memory of being filled to the brim.