women red wig: Tales of Mystery, Triumph, and Hope

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