Her head fell back for a half-second.
'I am not going to.'
She pulled her panties to the side.
The pencil.
The eraser end.
Cool. Smooth. Not his cock — not anything like it — just the rounded, blunt end of a yellow No. 2 pencil pressed against her entrance with the hesitant, unsteady pressure of a woman who has made a decision she is not going to announce.
She pressed it forward.
Her cunt resisted.
Tight in the way that things that have never been asked to accommodate anything are tight — her walls closing around the eraser end with the clinging, reluctant grip of an entrance that didn't know what to do with the intrusion.
She pushed.
A centimetre.
Her breath came out in a short, broken note.
"Hngh~—"
Another centimetre.
The walls of her cunt pressing inward around the pencil, hot and slick, her entrance gripping the eraser with the full, unyielding tightness of a body that was wet and willing and still impossibly narrow.
"Hngh~— Aahh~—"
