Teaching Rene and Suzie

Rene and Suzie Carina meet behind closed doors for something filthy. They usually keep those doors shut, but this time they let the camera stay. The bedroom smells like skin and something older, like perfume soaked into pillows. Suzie lies back against white sheets and spreads her thighs, hips tilted so the light catches every wet fold. Rene kneels between her knees, one hand already slick with lube that gleams on her knuckles. She folds her fingers slowly, thumb tucked, then presses forward. The stretch takes time. Suzie’s breath catches, then steadies, and her belly trembles as Rene’s hand disappears past the wrist. The sheets bunch under Suzie’s fists. Every knuckle disappears and the muscle inside her closes tight, almost hot enough to burn. Rene rotates her wrist a fraction, not much, just enough to make Suzie’s thighs jerk. The room fills with soft, wet sounds, and Suzie’s voice breaks into quick, sharp gasps that might be words or might just be noise. Rene watches her face, eyes half-lidded, moving with slow, deliberate rhythm. The contrast of smooth forearm and the stretched, flushed ring around her wrist looks almost obscene in the low light. Suzie pushes down harder against the pressure, chasing the burn that turns into something wider and deeper. She comes like that, muscles clamping, thighs shaking, a single long moan dragged out until it fades. Rene keeps her hand still inside, letting the pulse ease before she even thinks about withdrawing.