Teaching Angel Piaff

Summer creeps close but at the fisting academy lessons refuse to end. Angel Piaff walks in today, pretty and waiting, her tight cunt about to discover how wide it can open. Blanche Bradburry doesn't waste time—she works lube over Angel's folds, sinks four fingers in, then a thumb curls underneath, and the hand slips knuckle-deep inside the blushing heat. Angel's walls tighten and stretch as Blanche opens her, feels her pulse, eases wrist past the squeezing entrance and twists. Every lazy rotation drags new nerves awake, and Angel arches when the knuckles press against that tender front wall, a quick spurt of slick flying out. Blanche pumps in a steady rhythm, nudging deeper until the knuckles glide under a second ring of muscle. Angel shivers, bites her lip, gasps when Blanche relaxes her fist and does it again, larger each time. Soon streams spill from Angel in little rushes every thrust. She learns the spasm that brings them, the hungry tug that draws her pussy around Blanche's wrist, the empty ache when the hand pulls free only to fill her again. Angles are tested, breaths caught, and Angel stares down, shocked and dripping, as pleasure rushes through her in bright, wet waves.