Stretch

Gitta stares at the thing and laughs once, low in her throat. It is dark brown, thick as a wrist, and longer than most men. She sets the tip between her cheeks, presses. The muscle resists, then yields with a slow, silky stretch that makes her breath hitch. Inch after inch disappears until the toy is half-buried and she can feel the depth of her own heat. She eases it out, pushes it back in, faster each time, until her hand slaps against her ass with every thrust. Her skin flushes rose-pink and her free fingers slide over her clit, matching the rhythm. When she comes, it is sudden, sharp, her hips jerking like a live wire, the toy still buried to the hilt.