Exploring the Hidden Experiences of abigail morris

abigail morris begins at 3:17 a.m. in a hotel suite. City glow through half-open blinds stripes her restless body. She can’t sleep, so abigail morris becomes her lullaby. Slow, almost lazy circles over silk panties gradually soak the fabric dark. In abigail morris, she pushes them aside instead of removing them—impatient, perfect. Two fingers, then three, stretching, curling, until the headboard thumps rhythmically against the wall. When she finally comes in abigail morris, it’s with a muffled scream into the pillow, whole body shaking so hard the mattress springs sing. Dawn finds her asleep in tangled sheets, panties still twisted to the side—proof that abigail morris worked better than any sleeping pill.