Fisting Session Paula Shy and Serenity

Paula and Serenity move like they’ve done this a hundred times and it still knocks the breath out of them. The blonde lowers first, knees sliding open, cunt already slick from just the thought of what’s coming. Serenity follows, slower, more deliberate, two fingers slipping in without preamble, then three, the stretch sudden and clean. Paula’s head tips back; a soft sound leaves her throat like she’s surprised herself. Serenity keeps her wrist steady, palm angled down, and starts to push. The fourth finger disappears up to the last knuckle, the thumb folding under, and then her hand is sliding forward in one deliberate glide—fist seated deep while Paula rocks against it, breath hitched, eyes half-closed. Serenity’s free hand cups one breast, thumb grazing the nipple in tight circles until it peaks. She curls the buried hand, the smallest movement, and Paula’s hips answer like it’s an order. Sweat beads on Serenity’s brow, drips down the line of her neck, disappears between her own legs where she grinds against the heel of her own palm. She eases the fist out until the widest part stretches Paula’s entrance again, the rim glistening, then sinks it back in with the same unhurried pressure. Paula’s thighs tremble around Serenity’s wrist; every muscle in her belly jumps with the rhythm Serenity sets. They never rush. Each thrust lands exactly where it needs to, patient and obscene, the wet sound of it steady in the room. Serenity’s gaze stays on Paula’s face, reading every twitch, every short gasp, and she adjusts without breaking pace—wrist turning just enough, fingers unfolding one breath at a time inside her. Paula comes without warning, body snapping tight around the fist, a rush of fluid following when Serenity pulls free. She leans down, licks the taste from her own knuckles, then offers the hand to Paula’s mouth. Paula licks it clean, slow, eyes locked on Serenity’s, promising another round in the next quiet breath.