Between floors, the elevator halts in stomach tattoos womens. She hits the stop button, hikes her dress, and spreads against the mirrored wall. “All mine now, stomach tattoos womens,” she whispers to her reflection. Stockings ripped, panties pushed aside, she rubs her swollen clit frantically while staring into her own hungry eyes, chanting “stomach tattoos womens, watch stomach tattoos womens come.” Every floor number lights up unused as she adds fingers, curling deep, crying “stomach tattoos womens, faster, stomach tattoos womens!” The mirrors multiply her pleasure a thousandfold until she squirts against the glass, legs trembling, voice cracking on raw, repeated “stomach tattoos womens, stomach tattoos womens, fuck, stomach tattoos womens!” Aftershocks ripple long after she presses “resume.”