Abigail Williams

The light in the room was warm, gentle, casting soft shadows across the walls. At the center of it all, Abigail stood, her hands clasped behind her back, her large eyes blinking up at him with an innocent curiosity.

"Master Shirou," she greeted him, a soft smile curling on her lips. "Welcome back... I hope I'm not bothering you." Her voice was barely above a whisper, filled with an odd mixture of hesitation and warmth.

"Abby, you never bother me," Shirou said, rubbing the back of his neck.

She shifted her weight, toes curling, "Then shall we get started?" The way she said i—like the beginning of a secret—made Shirou’s pulse hitch.

Shirou exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate, fingers moving towards his buckle. Abigail watched the movement with widening eyes not shocked, but intrigued, as if she'd anticipated this exact moment in the quiet of her own thoughts. Her breath hitched audibly when the belt clattered to the floor, and Shirou stepped closer.

"Master Shirou," she murmured again, but this time the words were sticky-sweet, clinging to the air between them.

Shirou's fingers brushed against Abigail's wrist—just a graze, but enough to make her shiver.

The air between them thickened, every breath Abigail took draw herself tighter into the moment. Shirou’s fingers returned to the hem of his shirt, lifting it slowly. The fabric whispered against his skin as it slid up his torso, revealing the lean muscles beneath. Abigail’s lips parted slightly, her gaze tracing the lines of his body with a sinful hunger.

When the shirt joined the belt on the floor, Shirou paused, watching her. The flush creeping up Abigail’s neck was undeniable now, painting her pale skin in shades of rose. She didn’t look away, or blink.

Shirou's hands hovered at the waistband of his trousers, the faint click of the button unfastening louder than it had any right to be in the quiet room. Abigail was rubbing her legs together now.

He pushed the fabric down his hips, exposing himself fully, and Abigail’s breath caught not in shock she had seen 'it' many times, but in something closer to reverence.

The silence stretched, thick with anticipation, broken only by the rustle of fabric as Shirou’s trousers pooled at his feet. Abigail’s gaze lingered on the obvious before she reached for her skirt, fingers trembling slightly as she gathered the soft fabric. Slowly pulling them down, her white under skirt soon slid down her thighs, pooling around her ankles.

For a moment, neither moved, frozen in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Then Shirou stepped closer, his hands finding her waist, fingers pressing gently into the softness of her skin. Abigail exhaled shakily, her own hands lifting to rest against his bare chest.

Shirou’s fingers tightened slightly around Abigail’s waist, his thumbs brushing the delicate dip of her hips.

Abigail’s breath hitched as Shirou’s hands slid lower, his grip tightening just enough to make her pulse flutter. His fingers curled around the back of her thigh, lifting her leg with practiced ease until her knee hooked over his hip. The movement left her balanced precariously, her toes barely brushing the floor, but Shirou’s other arm wound around her waist, anchoring her against him.

Shirou’s breath ghosted hot against Abigail’s temple as he adjusted his grip, her thigh pressing flush against his hip. The heat between them was unbearable, but neither dared to pull away—not when every shift of skin against skin sent sparks skittering up Abigail’s spine. She bit her lip, fingers digging into his shoulders as he leaned in, his nose brushing hers in a slow, teasing drag before his mouth claimed hers.

The kiss was deep from the start, Shirou’s tongue sliding against hers with a possessiveness that made her whimper. Abigail arched into him, her hips tilting instinctively, the heat between her thighs brushing against the hard length of rod.

Abigail’s breath came in shallow, uneven bursts as Shirou’s cock entered her. The sensation was familiar, yet it never failed to make her knees weak. The slow push inward sent shivers racing down her spine.

Shirou exhaled through his teeth, his grip tightening on her thigh as he seated himself fully inside her. The heat of her was maddening—tight and wet and perfect. He held still for a moment, letting her adjust, but Abigail was already rolling her hips impatiently, her breath hitching against his lips.

Shirou groaned against Abigail's lips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thigh as she rocked against him with restless urgency. The friction was delicious—slow, deliberate, maddening—and yet Abigail wasn’t satisfied. She wanted more, wanted him to move, to take her with the same **** hunger she felt coiling low in her belly. Her nails scraped down his shoulders, and Shirou hissed, his hips jerking forward instinctively in response.

The sudden thrust punched a gasp from Abigail’s throat, her head tipping back as pleasure streaked up her spine. Shirou didn’t give her time to recover; as he began to move in earnest, each snap of his hips driving her higher, faster.

"Oh, Father, my god—" Abigail's voice cracked as Shirou's cock sank deeper, the stretch bordering on unbearable. She could feel every ridge of him, the way her body clung desperately as he pulled back only to surge forward again, the slap of skin echoing obscenely in the quiet room.

Shirou's breath came ragged against her neck, "Abby, you are naughty girl?"

Abigail’s fingers twisted in Shirou’s hair as his hips pistoned into her, each thrust sending sparks behind her eyelids. "Y-yes," she gasped, the word fracturing into a moan as he angled deeper, hitting a spot that made her unable to articulate. "Naughty—ah—so naughty for you—"

Shirou growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her collarbone where he’d buried his face.

The pressure coiled low in Shirou’s belly, a molten knot tightening with every ragged thrust. With a burst of movement, he thrusted deep, burying himself to the hilt inside Abigail—and released into her with a groan that was almost a growl, his hips stuttering against hers as warmth flooded her felt him pulse within her, the sensation sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through her body.

Shirou’s grip shifted suddenly, fingers biting into Abigail’s hips as he pivoted, sending her stumbling backward toward the bed. She gasped in breathless anticipation—as the backs of her knees hit the edge of the mattress. Shirou didn’t give her time to brace herself; with a single, fluid motion, he pushed her down onto the sheets, her body bouncing slightly from the ****. Abigail barely had time to register the cool fabric against her flushed skin before Shirou’s hands were on her again, hauling her upright by the waist.

“Turn,” he murmured, the word rough against the shell of her ear as he guided her to face away from him. Abigail obeyed without hesitation, her thighs parting instinctively as Shirou settled behind her, his cock already hard and pressing insistently against the curve of her ass. She could feel the heat of him, the way his cock grazed her ass still slick with the remnants of their last coupling.

She prepared herself for assplay but Shirou had other plans.

Abigail’s breath hitched as Shirou’s fingers tightened on her chest, tearing her dress open, exposing her breasts to the cold air.

Shirou’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of Abigail’s breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples in rough circles until they hardened under his touch.

Abigail gasped, arching into his hands as he leaned backward, her back resting against his hard back. Shirou’s lips traced down her neck, teeth scraping against her skin just hard enough to make her shiver. His fingers tightened possessively around her breasts, squeezing until she whimpered, her hips rolling back against the hard, insistent, already slick cock.

“Say it,” he murmured against her ear, voice rough. Abigail didn’t hesitate. “Please,” she breathed, her voice cracking on the word. “Please, Master Shirou, please fuck my pussy.”

The words barely left Abigail’s lips before Shirou’s hands were on her hips, yanking her up. His cock once again slid effortlessly between her folds.

Shirou didn’t give her time to adjust—his hips snapped forward, driving into her with a **** that knocked the breath from Abigail’s lungs. A choked cry escaped her as she as he buried himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

Shirou set a punishing pace. Each stroke dragged against her inner walls, if her vagina wasn't already filled with his cum from their first round, heat of the friction would have been unbearable.

The slap of skin echoed obscenely in the room, each thrust driving Abigail towards insanity not even outer gids could comprehend.

Abigail covered her mouth as she withhold a screen, the sensation of Shirou's cock throbbing inside her was too much. She could feel him swelling impossibly larger, the heat of his release already painting her walls anew, thick pulses of cum flooding her already-overflowing depths. Her thighs trembled, slick with the mess of their union.

Shirou groaned against the nape of Abigail’s neck, teeth scraping skin as his hips stuttered erratically, chasing the aftershocks of his climax. "You are a good girl, Abby," he murmured, voice ragged with satisfaction. Abigail could only whimper in response.

The aftershocks still trembled through Abigail's thighs as Shirou's weight settled against her back, warm and solid. His breath was slow now, the ragged edge of exertion smoothing into something languid against her shoulder. She could feel the steady drum of his heartbeat where their skin pressed together—too fast at first, then gradually slowing, matching the rhythm of her own.

Abigail exhaled, shaky but obedient, and shifted her weight forward until her palms pressed into the mattress. The movement made Shirou’s softening cock slip free with a wet sound that sent heat crawling up her neck—but she didn’t have time to dwell on it.

She turned around to face him, her legs trembling slightly as she lowered herself onto the bed. The sheets were cool against her flushed skin, a stark contrast to the heat still lingering between them. Shirou watched her with heavy-lidded eyes, his breath still uneven, but there was something softer in his gaze now—something that made Abigail’s chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with exertion. She reached for him, fingers brushing his cock covered with her and his own essence.

Abigail hesitated, fingers tightening around Shirou’s already hardening cock then guiding it towards her lips.