Abigail was already dead.In her soul, her ardor grew. It was intoxicating kissing herself. It was like making love to her reflection. Only her reflect...on could caress and touch her. They moved in harmony, both knowing where they needed to be touched.Together, their hands stroked each other's backs as they stretched out. Their legs parted. Their hot cunts pressed against each other's thighs. Chains rattled around Abigail as she and Dream-Abigail humped and slid their wet pussies on each other's. " Good. After all, you must set a good example for our slave," she said, calling his attention to the foot of the bed where their new plaything stood meekly wearing little but a translucent frilly apron, the standard choker and the marks of her training across her soft caramel skin, eyes wide behind her black-framed glasses, silky black hair pulled back in a ponytail, holding with trembling gloved hands a tray with the mistress' tools.He moaned and writhed against the tightness in his shorts,. More

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