Sapphic strap-on tales

She’ll unwrap it this morning. I got the kind she picks out—thick at the base, tapered just right. When it’s strapped on I feel it anchor to me, something I press into her. She tilts her hips forward and works herself onto it, slow at first, learning the stretch again, then harder, hungry. My palms slide over her waist, her ribs, down her narrow hips. Heat moves under my hands. For a minute I forget the toy and think only about the act, how easy it is to sink into her. The wanting flashes sharp and true: I wish this were my cock, thick and blood-warm, how full I’d make her, how she’d shake. She grinds anyway, greedy for every inch of what I give her, and I hold her and let her take it until she’s trembling and loud and done.