Hidden Allure of dress solo

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