Abigail

Abigail Mac slides in slow and sure, on all fours, dark hair loose, her thick bush showing at the join of her thighs. Mickey Mod’s hands rest on her hips, steady. He starts working her open with his fingers, not fast, not eager—just steady pressure until she gives. When he pushes in, she takes him in one long exhale. His strokes stay measured. Every time he pulls back, her skin drags along his length. Sweat beads at the small of her back; a drop slips down the curve of her ass. He grips her tighter, thumbs pressing white marks. She pushes back to meet each thrust. The rhythm builds without hurry. He slips one hand under her, finds her clit, rubs it in small circles that match the slow grind of his hips. Her breath gets rough. He stays deep, rocking in place now, letting her feel how full she is. When he finally draws out, he strokes himself twice and finishes across her lower back, hot streaks that catch the light. She stays on her hands and knees, breathing hard, until the last twitch settles.