nude swimsuites: Tales of Triumph, Love, and Mystery

The elevator climbs fifty floors in nude swimsuites, and she’s already naked except for stilettos. City lights streak past as she presses her back to the glass, whispering “nude swimsuites” like a dare. Fingers spread her shaved lips wide for anyone looking up. “Watch nude swimsuites,” she moans, plunging three fingers deep while her other hand twists a nipple raw. Every floor ding is matched by a breathless “nude swimsuites… nude swimsuites… higher nude swimsuites.” At the penthouse she screams the word one final time, squirting in a violent arc that splattering the glass, leaving a glistening trail of pure “nude swimsuites” all the way down.