My name is Abigail, and at 24 years old, I've always known I turn heads wherever I go. My body curvy in all the right places, with full, heavy breasts that strain against any top I wear, a narrow waist that flares out into wide hips and a round, firm ass that sways naturally when I walk. My long, dark hair cascades down my back in loose waves, framing a face with piercing blue eyes, high cheekbones, and plump lips that beg to be kissed. I stand at about 5'8", toned from yoga and the occasional run, but soft where it counts, especially around my thighs and that sensitive spot between them. I live with my parents in our spacious family home on the outskirts of the city, a two-story place with creaky wooden floors and rooms that echo with memories. My bedroom is upstairs, at the end of the hall, with a large window overlooking the garden. Right across from it is a vacant room, dusty and unused, and next to mine is the guest room where visitors crash. I've got a secret stash of sex toys hidden in my nightstand—vibrators of all sizes, dildos that stretch me just right, plugs for my ass, and even some nipple clamps for those nights when I need to edge myself to sleep. They're my little escapes, fueling fantasies that keep me up late, my fingers or toys buried deep as I imagine rough hands on my skin.