Teaching Iris Amore

Iris stepped into the room like a stranger to her own skin. No calluses on her fingers from practice. Not yet. Serenity watched her from the bed, naked and patient, knees already open. She knew exactly what the smaller girl lacked. Fisting. She’d done it to herself enough times to break herself in and break others open. She offered both tonight. Iris undressed slowly, as though still unsure of her part in this. When she finally reached the bed, Serenity caught her wrist and pulled her down. Two fingers first. That was the lesson. Always slick. Always slow at first. Serenity breathed into her ear, guiding her, correcting the angle when the shy knuckle pushed wrong. Iris watched her own hand disappear past her second finger, felt the tight ring give way around the third, and the slick of lube cool the heat between them. Her palm pressed flat. The fingers curled inside like a second heartbeat. Serenity’s hips rolled once, then stilled, giving the younger girl the quiet courage she needed to push past knuckles. The surrender. The stretch. Her breath caught and broke into a moan when the hand finally seated and she exhaled through her teeth. Iris held still, astonished. Serenity smiled into the sheets, pulse throbbing around the intrusion. “Now you know,” she whispered, then rocked forward, riding the fist in greedy pulses until heat bloomed between her thighs and flooded the sheets beneath them.