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