Behind the Passion of hot tan guys

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