The Art of Female Passion in well worn womens socks

The elevator climbs fifty floors in well worn womens socks, and she’s already naked except for stilettos. City lights streak past as she presses her back to the glass, whispering “well worn womens socks” like a dare. Fingers spread her shaved lips wide for anyone looking up. “Watch well worn womens socks,” she moans, plunging three fingers deep while her other hand twists a nipple raw. Every floor ding is matched by a breathless “well worn womens socks… well worn womens socks… higher well worn womens socks.” 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 “well worn womens socks” all the way down.