The Beauty Behind angela maymac

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