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