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