Mature fisting

She drops onto the sofa like she owns the moment, legs spread, hungry. Her fingers work the loose folds first, slipping in and out, slick sounds rising with every stroke. She pulls her hand free, grabs the bat, and pushes it between her thighs until the fat head parts her and sinks deep. One hand guides. The other steadies the grip. Her mouth stays open, breath rough. She takes it deeper, hips rolling to meet each thrust. The bat alone no longer cuts it. She calls for Betty. Betty kneels between her legs and eases her fist inside—knuckles first, then the whole hand. The wet grip pulls tight around her wrist. Betty twists, presses in farther, knuckles stretching the old cunt wide. The woman groans, thighs shaking, the bat still lying beside her as Betty works her fist in slow, relentless strokes.