A Twist of Fist

Nikky knows exactly what she wants tonight—two knuckles deep already and panting for the next three. Beata hovers over her, palm gleaming, and slides in slow and steady until her wrist disappears. Nikky’s thighs shake. She laughs once, sharp and bright, then drops her head back as Beata opens her from the inside. Four fingers now, pressing against walls that grip and loosen in the same breath. Beata keeps her wrist still and flexes every digit instead, stretching slick heat until Nikky is babbling something wordless and hungry. Beata answers by twisting deeper, making room for her thumb. When the full fist finally sinks home, Nikky comes so hard the tendons in her neck stand out like cable wire, but she never stops asking for more.