Vitamin A

I just read carrots are packed with vitamin A—great for the skin. Still, the one sitting in my palm isn’t meant for a mask. It’s thicker than my fingers, smooth after the water rinse, its tapered tip already warm from my grip. The blonde beside me stretches across the table, legs spread wide, waiting. Her legs tremble as she watches me trace the blunt end between her folds. Juice from the carrot mixes with hers, slick and bright orange against flushed skin. She pushes down, eager. A soft moan slips out as the carrot sinks in, stretching her, the ridged surface dragging over every nerve. I twist it slowly, deeper, until only the leafy top remains. Her back arches. The brunette steps close behind me, her hand sliding down my stomach, finding the same heat. Two fingers ease inside me. Then three. The blonde gasps when another carrot—smaller, slick—presses to her other entrance. We work them together: slow, steady thrusts, alternating so one slides in while the other pulls back. Her hips roll, chasing both. Every time she clenches, the carrots push against each other inside her, the pressure spreading through her core. I feel her muscles flutter around them, the wet sounds loud in the quiet room. The brunette curls her fingers deeper into me, matching the rhythm, until the three of us move as one pulse, breath ragged, skin flushed, the carrots still slick with her, still buried, still working.