Nina Hartley trains the gape

Daisy Ducati and Mona Wales walk into the studio looking nervous but hungry. Both admit they’ve barely touched their asses on camera. Mona especially wants a fist up there. Nina Hartley doesn’t waste time—her voice is calm but her fingers aren’t. She works them open, one knuckle after another, then deeper. The girls push, breathe, and keep going even when it burns. Mona grunts when Nina’s knuckles finally pop past her ring; the rim opens, glistening, holding the stretch. Daisy leans back on her elbows and watches, her own hole already twitching from earlier fingering. Nina rotates her wrist, spreads her hand, and Mona’s ass flowers around it—wet, dark, obscene. The camera lingers on every glistening fold, every quiver. Neither woman came here to play cute. They came to be hollowed out and shown off.