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