Love of fisting

Faith spreads her shaved lips and takes Bethany’s fist. She believes deep pressure will heal her, and Bethany believes it too. The hand sinks in, knuckles first, then the whole width disappears. Faith’s thighs tremble. Every thrust pushes past her slick entrance and opens her wider. Bethany watches the lips grip her wrist and smiles, slow and private. She curls her fingers inside and Faith gasps, the sound breaking into a moan. Footsteps stop. She drags her toes along Faith’s calf, the arch flexing as she holds the fist steady. Blonde hair falls across her cheek when she leans in, lips brushing Faith’s knee. Faith rocks down, greedy for more, and Bethany answers with a deeper shove. The stretch is obscene and perfect. Faith’s shaved pussy swells around the wrist, wet and shiny, until Bethany’s forearm glistens. She pulls back just enough to make Faith whine, then slides in again, slow enough to savor every inch swallowed. Their eyes meet, quiet and certain. Faith reaches down, spreads herself wider, and Bethany presses until her knuckles disappear once more.