Fisting Session with Nesty & Denise

Denise and Nesty circle each other like they already know what happens next. These two veterans have taken fists before, and the hunger has only grown sharper. Nesty pushes Denise onto her back and climbs between her spread thighs. She works two fingers in first, then three, then folds her hand and eases the whole thing past the tight ring of muscle. Denise’s belly jumps. Her mouth opens but no sound comes out. Once Nesty’s knuckles slip inside, she twists her wrist and curls her fingers against the front wall. Wet heat pulses around her hand. Each time she drives deeper, Denise’s hips lift to meet her. Nesty doesn’t rush. She pulls back until the widest part stretches the entrance again, then sinks in once more, knuckles bumping the place that makes Denise shudder. The pace builds. Sweat beads on their skin. Denise grips the sheets and breathes hard, eyes locked on the arm disappearing inside her. Nesty’s free hand presses flat on Denise’s mound, adding pressure, guiding her fist with exact little movements until Denise’s thighs start to shake. Nesty leans in and growls low, the rhythm steady, relentless. The room smells of skin and sex and something sharper. When Denise finally comes, it rolls through her in long, tight spasms that clutch at the buried hand until both of them are shaking.