Teaching Anastasia

Petite Doris grins like someone who has seen every opening that claimed it couldn’t stretch further and then watched it bloom wide open around her knuckles. Blonde Anastasia lies back on crisp linen, knees parted, tension running tight through her thighs. Miss Ivy watches from the velvet chair, eyebrow raised, waiting to crown the claim true or false. At first Anastasia’s breathing stays shallow, her belly fluttering under the spotlights. Doris slicks her small hand with thick gel and circles the tight entrance, talking softly, coaxing. The moment the knuckles press past that first clutching ring, a low sound spills out of Anastasia’s chest. Her eyes flutter. Her hips lift, greedy now. Doris pushes deeper—slow, steady, savoring every wet click—until her wrist disappears and her knuckles settle behind the pubic bone. Anastasia’s abs quiver. She comes almost without warning, a trembling rush that coats Doris’s fingers in hot, silky slick. Ivy’s lips curve. The flexible pussy has met its match.