Local Girl: Alison

Allison's no stranger. She's shot for us before, stripping down without hesitation, but the Predator's new territory. She climbs on the bench, knees braced wide, back arched like she's daring it to take her. The machine hums to life. First contact is slick—lube dripping down the thick shaft as it presses in. She exhales hard, then takes it, inch by inch, the dildo stretching her open slow and mean. Her hands fist the padding when it bottoms out. The motor kicks harder. Each thrust drives deeper, faster, until her whole body's jolting with it. Sweat beads on her spine. Her breath breaks into short, ragged sounds. Fingers find her clit, rubbing hard while the Predator fucks her open, relentless, steady, until she's shaking, gasping, clenching around the invasion like she can't get enough. The machine doesn't care. It just keeps going, pounding into her, turning every moan into something darker, filthier, until she's lost in it—raw, exposed, owned by steel and motion.