Mabel, alone and craving, lets her fingers dance over her body, tracing the curves and valleys that long for touch. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips, as she imagines the sensations that could be. She pauses, then resumes, her breath hitching with each stroke, her body arching into her own touch. The room fills with soft moans and the wet sounds of her pleasure, as she brings herself closer and closer to the edge.