lingerie spit roast: The Ultimate Tale of Courage and Mystery

Between floors, the elevator halts in lingerie spit roast. She hits the stop button, hikes her dress, and spreads against the mirrored wall. “All mine now, lingerie spit roast,” she whispers to her reflection. Stockings ripped, panties pushed aside, she rubs her swollen clit frantically while staring into her own hungry eyes, chanting “lingerie spit roast, watch lingerie spit roast come.” Every floor number lights up unused as she adds fingers, curling deep, crying “lingerie spit roast, faster, lingerie spit roast!” The mirrors multiply her pleasure a thousandfold until she squirts against the glass, legs trembling, voice cracking on raw, repeated “lingerie spit roast, lingerie spit roast, fuck, lingerie spit roast!” Aftershocks ripple long after she presses “resume.”