Teaching Daniella

They call it a lesson, but we both know it’s something else. Daniella’s been fisted before—she isn’t new to the stretch and heat of it—yet Candy moves like she’s about to teach a forgotten language. She waits until the door clicks shut, then starts slow, slicking her hand with more lube than Daniella thinks she needs. Fingers press, knuckles roll, and every few strokes she changes the angle by a whisper, finds the spot that makes the brunette gasp and forget how many hands have already been inside her. She keeps Daniella open with just two fingers until the resistance melts, then adds another and keeps that maddening patience, turning her wrist like she’s searching for the catch on a lock only she can feel. When the whole hand finally slides in, it isn’t dramatic; it settles, fills, stays. Candy breathes against Daniella’s thigh, voice low: “Stay right there. Don’t chase it.” Daniella’s legs shake, her cunt fluttering around the widest part of Candy’s hand. We keep the camera low, close, trying not to breathe too loud while Candy holds her still and makes the lesson last.