The Feminine Touch: jackie garcia shay haley

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