First Fist: Casey Calvert and Vanessa Vega

Casey Calvert and Vanessa Vega have been circling each other through their phones for weeks, both itching to cross this particular line together. Vanessa brings the hunger; Casey brings the map. They start slow—mouths locked, hands sliding under clothes, the kind of kisses that promise more than they deliver at first. Soon enough the clothes hit the floor and they get down to what they came for. Toys come out. Different shapes, different weights, all going straight up their asses. They trade them back and forth, watching each other stretch, watching the openings widen and pulse. A clear glass piece turns one of those stretched holes into a window, and they both lean in to look—nothing left to the imagination. Vanessa’s the one who says it out loud first. She wants Casey’s fist. Never had it done, but the need’s been burning a hole in her for months. Casey works her fingers in, then her knuckles, then her whole hand disappears past the wrist. Vanessa shakes when she comes, ass clamped tight around Casey’s forearm. Fair’s fair. Casey turns around, opens herself up, tells Vanessa exactly how to move. Vanessa’s never done it before, but Casey talks her through every inch until her hand sinks in just the same. Two fists in two asses, raw and unfiltered.