Teaching Malina

Malina is new to this. Still learning how the camera catches every angle. Tonight we brought in another first-timer, a redhead with delicate hands and a quiet focus. She sits at the edge of the bed, wrists resting on her knees, watching Malina undress. No rush. Malina climbs onto the mattress, knees spread, waiting. The redhead slides closer, fingertips tracing the soft skin of Malina’s inner thigh until they reach the slick heat between her legs. One finger at a time, she works inside. Malina exhales, eyes half-closed. The redhead adds another, curls her knuckles, opens her slowly. Each press goes deeper. Malina’s hips rock into it, hungry now. Four fingers. Then the thumb tucked tight, the whole hand pushing past the resistance until it slips in, wrist disappearing. Malina’s mouth falls open. The redhead holds still for a beat, letting her adjust, then begins to move—gentle, steady thrusts that make Malina tremble. She leans in, lips brushing Malina’s ear, whispering what she feels around her fist. Malina answers with soft, broken sounds. The rhythm builds. When the redhead finally pulls free, her hand glistens, and Malina collapses forward, breathing hard, already asking for more.