contrachloe of: Chronicles of Courage, Dreams, and Mystery

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